The Wonders of Human Contact
by Agent Pumpkin
Summary: After being left alone on the deserted island of hell, Wilson is left with more than enough time to consider his misfortune and wallow in his own self-pity. Feeling taxed with his gruelling routine that is surely setting in as the day pass by, he figures he is beyond help. But then, he finds a girl, and his experiences soon begin to change. Eventually Wilson/OC. Review please!
1. Alive Is Best

**Hey, guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that!**

**So, I've been heavily addicted to the game Don't Starve for a while now and was thinking it'd be fit to write a story about it. It'll be a Wilson/OC (yeah, I'm lame like that, so sue me) and a chapter fic. I'm not quite sure though... it's funny, because this story is going to almost random in terms of plotting, yet I have the sequel all sorted out if I ever get that far. Anyhow, here's to hoping my story will be a success~! Also, I'm imagining Wilson as part of the fanart I've seen on Deviantart – so please, look him up there, and you'll understand why he seems a little more "in detail" than his regular game-play self.**

**Please review and tell me what you thought! I'd love to hear your opinions~!**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

**Lost and Found -"It's funny, you can be within a group of people and still feel completely lost. It's ironic that the person who usually finds you IS you..."**

**X x**

It was difficult being the chosen one. The one bound to knowledge that had never before been told; the one who was expected to express interest in these nuggets of wisdom; the one who was supposed to use his endless scientific innovation in order to exploit the never before told secrets. And now that he had that knowledge... it completely sucked. He couldn't help being smart – couldn't help being a genius. And here he was, paying the price for being clever.

There he sat in the midst of a forest, his head throbbing and his hand stinging from the cut he had made into it in order to get that damned machine working.

"Say, pal, you don't look so good," he had heard. Charming, he thought as he mentally smoothed his own hair over. The mysterious man wouldn't have looked so good had he been whisked through a mysterious "warp-zone" either. "You'd better find something to eat before night comes." and then he vanished, without a trace. His vision slightly blurred, Wilson sat himself up and surveyed what he could see of his surroundings. Bushes coated with berries, grass fluffy and looking luxurious as ever and a couple of rocks and pieces of flint scattered the ground.

Getting up meekly, he steadied himself and began to collect things. As soon as he had the correct tools to do so, he immediately made a makeshift axe. It was pretty decent for something made out of pure instinct and wood.

"I suppose this will do," he mused quietly, beginning to make quick work of a tree, collecting the logs left behind. His pockets in this "world" were bizarre – they held many items and seemed not to take up any space at all. After a brief experiment (picking numerous pieces of grass and stuffing them in until he could carry no more in order to see how much his pockets would enable him to hold at any given time), he proceeded to count out his current supplies, checking he had enough for a camp-fire. He definitely had. With wood and flint to spare.

He inspected the sky, but it was still light out – now he needed to find food. As Wilson wandered through the eerie forest, he began to doubt his capabilities. He was a scientist, but what good would that do him if there was nothing to create in a world so bleak that hope itself would flee? What could he possibly do? Perhaps... he could build some kind of contraption in order to be _able _to make scientific things – or at least adapt what he could already build to suit his needs better? It was his best shot right now – what else did he have to lose? But the science machine was for later as, for now, he was beginning to feel his stomach rumble and groan against his will. Damn humans and their necessities!

"Hmm..." he murmured as he came face to face with a rabbit. Flexing his fingers and stretching his legs, he readied himself to charge towards it; then, with a furious battle cry ("I will destroy you!"), he swung his axe at the little critter – and missed. The rabbit darted down a hole and refused to come out, even when Wilson feigned his leave, like masterminds did. Eventually giving in, he began to drag himself away from the hole and headed towards the trees. There seemed to be _nothing _for him. Was he going to die here...? No! No, of course not! He couldn't die here, the world had yet to witness his brilliant scientific capabilities!

With a new found determination, he picked himself up and began to search; as it came to be, he found four carrots, two sets of seeds, a handful of berries and another rabbit, in which he had sneaked up on and killed successfully. After downing the rabbit with a gluttonous growl, Wilson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and began to search around for a suitable place to camp. For whatever reason, it was beginning to get dark now, whereas minutes before, it had been the equivalent of midday.

"It's getting late. I should make a fire..." he whispered to himself, beginning to scuttle in the wilderness, searching for a suitable place to make camp. He could eat more once he was settled.

As he made his way through the brambles and bracken, he found a nice spot that was between two big trees and next to a bush that had berries growing on it laboriously. Gingerly, he took out his crafting material to make the fire and set it alight, smiling to himself as a feeling of accomplishment washed over him. He was going to be just fine... though that didn't explain the man who had dumped him there's actions. Maxwell, his name was if he remembered correctly. Which he was sure he did. What motives did he have to dump Wilson here? Did he even _have _motives? Perhaps he was just a cruel puppet-master in need of some toys to keep him occupied for a while before he eventually got bored and killed them off. The thought sent a chill through the scientist as the world around him faded to dark, leaving only the quaint gentle light of the fire to aid his vision.

And then the thought came back to him suddenly: those berries!

Slowly, he stood up, stumbling in the darkness as he dashed to where he felt the bush had been in the daylight, eventually locating it with just enough light to pick the berries accordingly. It was off-putting to do such a task in the dark, but probably for the best; after all, if he was to light a torch, there was a good chance something around him would also catch fire. And he was in no mood to deal with extra 'casualties'.

"I had a feeling they we- wait, what was that?" he pulled back hastily, berries in hand, as he heard a guttural growl from somewhere past the trees. He stiffened, his back erect as he listened closely, his breath hitching in the silence. Something in him cursed him – it was against Science to be thinking that some kind of monster was out there; monsters didn't _exist_ after all. That was when he noticed the fire dying out, nothing but tiny sparks alight. He had no choice. He'd have to light a torch.

Fumbling with his tools blindly, he managed to light a stick rather quickly and immediately held it up in front of him, looking around more confidently this time around. There was nothing that could even startle him now! Still, he found himself scuttling back to the fire to set it up once more, only for the sun to shoot up moments later.

**X x**

And that had only been day one. He had been here for a grand total of ten days now, all the naïvety and optimism having been drained out of him, slowly but surely. That happy sense of accomplishment whenever he made it through to the next day was quivkly replaced with the bitter urge to just disappear. Now it seemed there was nothing for him but gruelling, hard routine. He was in no way starving – he had plenty of supplies, both in his pockets and his now-structured back-pack, and he always had enough material by the end of the day to make a decent camp fire. It wasn't running out of life he was worried about so much – it was never returning home. How was he supposed to become a proper scientist if he was to never make it out of this hell-hole alive? It seemed trivial to most, but the Gentleman Scientist, though accurate, was only a self-given title; he'd have loved nothing more than to be a world-renowned scientist in which everybody looked up to. He'd finally prove he wasn't _mad, _just ambitious and experimental in his affairs.

Gobbling some berries, he paused for thought – he had shaven his beard that morning and his face was oddly cold and feeling empty; a cool breeze was building up and he could only guess it wouldn't be pleasant in the near future. He sighed, and trekked through the trees, one foot in front of the other like an old song he'd sang one too many times to sing it cheerily any longer. He used to hum and even sing on some occasions while walking... now it was a wonder he stayed up and moving instead of stubbornly slumping in the dirt like an ill-fledged loser.

"When did my life turn so dull...?" Wilson mumbled as he bent down and hoarded some berries together. By now, he had so many, he could have fed an entire country. He wasn't one for wallowing in his own self-pity and sorrow, but what else was there after being strong and hopeful for so long?

Shovelling a selection of seeds and berries into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully and chopped a tree down, collecting the logs together like a sheepdog gathering its sheep together.

And that was when he saw it.

A hand. A human hand. Checking his vital signs, he did a double take. He was perfectly sane... but there was nobody else here! He had spent days searching for another! A Week even! But then he had given up... why was this here?! Why now?! Was this another one of Maxwell's cruel schemes? He'd encountered enough of them (his sanity slipping, the monsters that chased him, hounds in particular, shortage of food as the days continued, and the list went on and on), it wouldn't surprising if there were more.

Clutching his dirty vest above his heart ,which was now pumping vigorously in both anxiety and hope, he dropped his scientist-values for a fraction of a second and prayed to some kind of God that this was real. That he was seeing something human. It didn't seem like a huge deal, particularly as he was a human himself, but it was beyond relieving after no type of human contact for more than a week! He couldn't wait to meet the person and-

"Oh my..." he whispered to himself as he saw a small girl lying face down on the floor. He would have presumed her dead... if she hadn't been mumbling to herself. Slowly, he stuck a foot out and forced himself to walk forwards, the soft grass beneath his feet suddenly feeling ominous and odd. "E-Excuse me...?" he managed to force out, his voice a squeak. Mentally, he slapped himself. What a first impression!

The mystery female tensed, before lifting her head and turning to the person who seemed to be talking to her. Her big, bleak eyes studied him: his hair was most definitely fabulous, and a proud shade of black, propped atop his head certainly like an exotic hat. His slightly tussled red vest gave her the implication he had been there for a while – just as she had. A full seven days, and she was ready to quit. Silently, she wondered if he was even _real_. She hadn't eaten in a while...

Meanwhile, he found his eyes guiltily drinking her image in. Not because he was stooping to low ungentlemanly ways – how ludicrous! - but because it really was surreal to see another person. He knew it was rude to stare, but in this set of circumstances, how could he not? She was wearing a tattered pair of leggings that reached the bottom of her shins, leaving the last quarter of leg showing. However, her socks looked as if they could cover that easily with how they were bunched around her ankles as if she had run a very far distance in a very short time. Her torso was covered by a dirty shirt, and her arms, bare and pale, were littered with bandages. Her long brown hair stopped at her mid-back and curled up venomously at the bottom of it, as if a warning sign to others to stay away. He wouldn't heed that warning, however. Oh no.

"Sorry... I haven't seen a person in so long, I figured it'd be fine to talk to myself and not face consequences..." she suddenly spoke, pulling him out of his bewildered stupor. She chuckled meekly at her little joke and he made room for a smile, polite as always. How long had she been there? He was curious. But he didn't dare ask.

"Understandable," he gave his best knowledgeable grin, despite how wary he was feeling. Even if this was a dream (knowing his captor, soon to be nightmare) conjured up by Maxwell or some other evil force, he didn't want it to end. Not yet. The human contact was simply too special. "I am in the same predicament actually. I have been here for a little over a week, and in that time, have not seen another human either."

Her already big eyes seemed to widen a fraction at this; he looked fine if only a little bit rugged around the edges.

"I see... I've been here a week," she replied, barely audible. Wilson strained to hear her, fearing her image was already fading. "And I'm.." she trailed, looking at him wearily. "I'm so tired..." and with that, collapsed. The gentleman rushed forward to catch her before she could smack her head on the dirt and managed to successfully. He managed to prop her on one of his long legs, before shifting her into his arms, though not without worrying about how light she was. Probably some kind of indication that she hadn't eaten in a while. Perhaps a _long _while.

Wilson clumsily arrived back at his temporary camp site in the nick of time, the dusk just beginning to settle. He thought the usual thought: "It's getting dark. I should make a fire."

Gently, he leaned her against him and took a bundle of fluffy grass out of his back-pack, making a slight cushion for the little lady – as to keep her head off of the floor. Had he had the proper surroundings, he would have offered her better hospitality – particularly as she was a female – but he was unperturbed as her scrawny body rested across the floor with only her head slightly elevated. That was the best he could do – he was _not _going to bend over backwards to hospitalise her simply because he felt slightly blessed to have come across another human.

As he watched her sleeping peacefully, he sighed outwardly, a slightly cold expression coming onto his face.

"You better not bring me trouble..."

**X x**

**First chapter out of the way and completed! I hope this is okay – for this chapter, I was focusing more on Wilson's desperate and _Gentleman _persona – the type that would hold the door open for a lady and such things. But don't worry – he's not going to be a complete softie throughout the whole thing; he'll get over the joys of having found another person, trust me. XD**

**Anyways, please review~!**

**~Jess~**


	2. Joining The Madman

**Hey guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!**

**Anyhow, I got good feedback from my previous chapter to The Wonders of Human Contact, so I decided to update again – my next update will probably be some time in a couple of weeks as I have Science finals (though I will TRY to squeeze an update in between this as it's a long time – y'never know, I may get lucky and find time on my hands or something) and so need to study accordingly. Wish me luck!**

**Anyhow, please enjoy, and please, review! I'd love to hear your opinions on my work! I'd also love to know how I can improve it – it's quite difficult juggling with personalities as Wilson isn't very expanded on in terms of general gameplay. Also, if you have any suggestions, as in what should happen in future chapters, leave a comment about that too – y'never know, I may work it in here. **

**~Jess~**

**X x**

"**I'm sick of the phrase "find yourself" - you don't find yourself. You make yourself. It's like being a blank canvas – now paint."**

**X x**

He had continued to watch her in a sort of dream state, his eyes trained on her stomach as it moved in and out peacefully. A clear sign she was recovering – her breaths were gentle and level; Science declared she was fine, her respiratory organs functioning properly and accordingly, and so he worried not. He began to make some food in preparation for when she woke up, and for himself.

It was all still so odd in his mind: a girl, barely old enough to be independent by the looks of things, being tossed into this cruel hell-hole. But surely she hadn't crafted a machine – his means of getting in. So... how had she got in? Had Maxwell other means of entry? But even if so, why her? What could a girl of her apparent stature and mindset possibly do to make him think she could deserve such a fate? Though there was a rough look about her, defined and slightly unforgiving, she did not look like a trouble-maker or a wreck of broken promises. So... _why_?

As he made a plate full of food (mainly consisting of rabbit meat cooked thoroughly and some berries he felt he needed rid of), his head turned to the sound of her rustling. She sat up, and then winced, her white empty eyes narrowing in what could be assumed was pain.

"Don't even try," Wilson spoke up and the girl turned her head towards him, acknowledging him weakly, her body still slumped from sleep as she eventually sank down again to a laying position. "Your body is not rested enough to support your weight yet."

She stiffened at this comment. Just what was he implying?! Too meek to say anything, she simply settled for a bitter silence sent his way in the hopes he'd be able to point her in the right direction to food or perhaps shelter. She knew he certainly wouldn't comply if she opened her mouth and argued and so she kept her lips tightly pressed together, disallowing herself the liberty of speaking. She stared as he slowly offered her a plate (plate being a loose term – more like a square plank of wood) and he cleared his throat expectantly.

"It is not getting any warmer," he said impatiently, his cold eyes staring her down. To say he had seemed so warm and even _gentle _when they first met, he certainly wasn't giving her the same signals now; he seemed to have "woken up", as if he wasn't accepting her presence. Was he so used to being alone that he didn't like the thought of somebody else being there? Or perhaps, though unlikely, he felt sorry for her, being in the same situation as him and knowing how it felt.

"Right...," she trailed quietly, slowly accepting the plate of food from him, picking up the knife and fork that were laid tidily on the side of it. She mumbled a "thank you..." and slowly began to cut the meat. Wilson raised an eyebrow skeptically, hands on his hips.

"You needn't worry about manners. You must be starving," he commented gruffly and no sooner had he finished his sentence had she thrown the cutlery to one side and began to pick the meat apart messily with her fingers. Nodding knowingly, he then turned on his heels to get some food of his own, though honestly, he was too giddy to eat much. He didn't feel the urge like normal – his stomach wasn't even rumbling lightly, never mind grumbling and groaning as per usual! He settled with some stray seeds and considered making a small bit of land to farm on – the lack of variety was almost as boring as learning the skeletal structure. Almost.

The thoughts of the girl still plagued his mind; he was curious, yet he didn't want to intrude. However, couldn't he spin some tale about her owing him – as in, for saving her? No doubt she was ready to pass out whether or not he had been there. He could play her weakened state to his advantage. He was a gentleman, but he was also human, and humans had a strange fascination with discovering the unknown. His mind whirring a mile a minute, he grinned to himself, knowing his questions would be answered shortly.

By now, the small female had finished her meat completely and a little bit of colour had come back to her face; she was now simply munching berries thoughtfully, her blank eyes staring ahead contemplatively. Now was time. Slowly, he seated himself, cross-legged, and waited for her to look at him.

"Thank you," she smiled slightly, hiccuping drunkly as her stomach gave a satisfied noise. He nodded habitually.

"It was nothing. Now, tell me, what's your name?"

She seemed to pull back, apparently startled by his sudden change in approach. Beforehand, he had been insisting she stay laid down, then encouraged her to sit and eat (though she had to admit, she was feeling stronger now), made it apparent he wasn't one for chit-chat by busying himself with other things and now he was asking her questions on a get-to-know basis. This man was as fickle as they came.

"Why do you need to know?" she asked curiously, tilting her head slightly. He chuckled, obviously amused by her question.

"Curiosity," he responded almost instantly.

"But _why_?"

He tutted.

"You ask a lot of questions for somebody who was just provided for," he replied solidly, his jet black hair seeming to stand taller as he spoke. She took a moment to ponder his motives and his sudden change in attitude. Supposing he was curious, she still didn't see how she owed him any information; if anything, she thought he would ask for supplies in trade for his hospitality. And he would be thoroughly disappointed just as her empty pockets were. But still, he could demand for all he was worth.

"True. Because I don't see what good it will do you to know what my name is," she retorted, eyeing him closely. His posture seemed quite general, though there was a certain down-to-business element in the way he was looking at her, those same black eyes cool and calculating.

"I like to know what – or _who_ – is around my parts."

"Your parts? You know very well this place belongs to Maxwell."

"In which I am living in, giving me some kind of claim as to what I earn in order to survive day in, day out. My land, my business."

By now, he was growing deadly serious. More serious by the second, actually, his stare incredibly hard and refusing to let go of her. She hated to admit it, but his alluringly deep gaze did little to settle her stomach as she shifted uncomfortably; this man was terribly clever, if not slightly deluded, but what could she expect from a man who had been stuck there for a grand total of ten days? It certainly had to be wearing him, and his patience, thin. She sighed in defeat, swearing she saw the flicker of a crooked smile pass over his face as she did so.

"Whimsy," she snapped. "My name is Whimsy."

"Nice to meet you, Whimsy," he stated, out-stretching his hand towards her and she honestly couldn't tell if he was mocking her or not. The way he was smirking told her so, but his genuine gesture spoke otherwise. "I'm Wilson." Slowly, she took his hand and swallowed back a gasp at how pleasantly warm his hand was. After a firm shake, he let go, retracting his hand to his side once more.

"Wilson," she repeated, testing his name on her tongue. It was surprisingly nice to say. Even staring down at the floor, the shadow for his magnificent hair protruded her vision. "How do you keep your hair like that?" she blurted before she could stop herself. Meanwhile, Wilson sat blankly, looking to his left, then to his right, then back at her.

"...natural talent." he mused, briefly wondering himself. He then stood up, slapping his hands to his legs as he did so, adding a sense of finality to their conversation. Whimsy looked up at him thoughtfully. What was the probability that he'd shoo her on her way? Ten to the dozen, no doubt. "So," he spoke again, breaking her train of thought. She stared still. "Where is your camp? I can escort you back." as he said this, he picked up a limp looking grass suit, and stuffed it into his pocket.

This was when she felt the embarrassment settle in. She didn't actually _have _a camp – she was so focused on gathering enough food for the next day and beyond that she hadn't planned out even the basics for a safe camp or even somewhere logical to stay. He seemed to read her expression as he stopped collecting things together, his eyebrows shooting up in almost-hysterical question.

"W-Well-"

"You don't have a camp?" he interrupted, shocked. How on _earth_ had she lasted so long?! Oh no, this wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all! Despite his survival instincts, he couldn't have a lady wandering on her own, only to probably die due to poor planning and lack of instinct. It was a while since he had felt compassion for something other than an experiment, and he felt a pang of sympathy as she hung her head in what appeared to be shame.

"No..." she mumbled, finally answering his question, though he didn't really need to be told, based on the solemn expression on her face beforehand.

"Why, that won't do," he said and she looked up at him. Pausing his thought for a moment, he eyed the bandages on her arms – there was no way they were new or even clean any longer. She really _couldn't _handle herself further than common sense. Survival was all about common sense _and _beyond. It seemed Whimsy did not have the further knowledge... though at least, on a more positive note, she wasn't completely brainless. At least she'd thought to bandage her wounds and apply appropriate pressure to them. And also, she fed herself well enough. He couldn't stop his mind from drifting to how bad the incidents beneath her bandages were. "Why... why don't you join me then...?"

That had her attention.

Was this gentleman really suggesting she stay with him within a moment's split decision? Had he even _thought _about it? Psh, who cared?! She could be guaranteed safety and food and shelter and all the rest of it if she was to join Wilson and his bundle of smarts! But... would it be right to do that? Well, of course, she could help him – she was good at combat, or so she thought. Gathering was a joy too – they could probably collect twice as much! Still, her face wavered with uncertainty, as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger apprehensively. Wilson seemed to take pity.

"You don't need to be afraid to say yes, you know. The loneliness was really starting to get to me. It'll be a good thing for me too, probably," he explained somewhat hopefully. At this, she picked her head up, still looking slightly uncertain. Oh, he seemed so genuine... so friendly and so kind... but it seemed he had some kind of personality clash. After all, one moment he was interrogating, the next he was serious and the next, he was pitiful – she really wasn't sure which side to buy when it came to him, and it was already sort of frustrating. She struggled with her pride, then found herself nodding slowly.

"You're sure, Wilson...?" the last thing Whimsy wanted was to look weak, but how could she be strong in the face of such generosity?

"Of course. I never thought I'd say it, but it'd be brilliant to have some company."

And with that, it was mutually settled. She was joining him. She was so happy and relieved, honestly; she felt as if Maxwell had spared her one. Unlikely, given his nature, but it sure felt that way! She grinned and mused over her possible future. Survival, and somebody to communicate with that wasn't herself. Not to mention the whole safety in numbers thing; two wasn't much of a number, but it was still bigger than one.

"So, what should I do?" she broke the euphoria selflessly.

"Nothing for the meantime. I've been studying the time frame of this world for a while – the days last approximately a quarter of the length of a regular day. It'll be getting dark soon, and we'll need a fire. I have enough equipment to make one, so we don't need to stress. For tonight, of course. Then it's back to scavenging," he elaborated clearly, using the word "scavenging" distastefully, his tone taking on a disgusted kind of sound. Seemed he wasn't comfortable with being thought of as a scrounger, even though it was inevitable when living in Maxwell's world of nightmares.

"Okay then. And Wilson?"

"Hm?" he responded after a moment as he began to empty his back-pack and pick out logs, grass and rocks to make a suitable camp-fire.

"Thank you. For everything."

And she'd never meant anything so much in her life.

**X x**

**Done!**

**I promise, next chapter, something WILL be happening – but I needed to get those two on the same page first. Hopefully it was good to read, and I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Also, I picked the name Whimsy because: she was made on a complete whim – just a random thought "Whim" being in "Whimsy", and I always picture her as being a rather whimsical girl, which will be shown as the time progresses. Also, the whole "your name starts with W or you die a horrible death" and yada yada yada. **

**Anyway, review~!**

**~Jess~**


	3. Attacks And Explanations

**Hey everybody, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!**

**Anyhow, I'm here today with another chapter of The Wonders of Human Contact – no worries, I have been studying properly for my exams, but I understand more about the work that will be in the test more than I thought I did and so not as much work has to go into it for me to achieve a great grade. So yeah, I thought I'd use a little of my time to try and update again! Wish me luck for tomorrow though. **

**So, please, enjoy, and whether you enjoyed or not, please review; I'd love to hear your opinions. Also, my reply to Gravity Warrior is: Thank you so much for reviewing my story, and it's a pleasure that my story is an exception for you; my aim is to create great work for people to enjoy, and so it does my heart good to hear from people like you who don't normally enjoy such and such, but still gave it a chance and found you like it. Thanks again, and I hope you continue to enjoy my story!**

**Thank you to EVERYBODY who reviewed, and I hope you enjoy the rest of my story! :)**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

"**Being thrown out of your comfort zone is being thrown into adventure. If you don't like it, make the best of it, if you like it, strive to do it again, but better the next time."**

**X x**

Despite having slept a lot yesterday when on the road to recovery, Whimsy slept like a log as soon as her head touched the make-shift pillow for the night; Wilson had most definitely kept watch, but even he couldn't take being awake all night, only to travel on foot the very next day, all day. He was still dozing now, his eyes shut peacefully, almost giving him an innocent look. As if he didn't know any better. As if he didn't understand just how cruel this world was. Oh, so wrong.

In turn for his hospitality, she had wanted to make something for him, breakfast-wise... but it felt wrong going through his back-pack in order to get supplies and so she had to pass on the idea, feeling guilty and slightly embarrassed. There must have been _something _she could do. Anything! But so far, nothing was coming to mind. She was normally so creative, so carefree and so illogical to the point that she was creating mad, yet beautiful things, and yet, nothing was coming... it was so frustrating! If she could sculpt a prized monument out of grass and twigs, why couldn't she think of anything? That being said, it still was a little early, only the first day in fact... she was just searching for a way to express her gratitude that there were any days together at all.

Wilson shifted and she looked his way dutifully.

"Good morning," she greeted brightly. She didn't feel completely safe with him – not yet – but that was no excuse for no manners. She then stood and offered him a hand in order to get up himself. The scientist stretched and scratched the back of his head, yawning, before accepting her hand and mumbling a groggy "Good morning." in return. Looking at him now stood up, despite slouching briefly out of fatigue and drowsiness, he was so tall and lanky. Had he always been that way, or had his natural body frame somehow bent it's way to suit his current lifestyle with little food?

The young man was now shovelling through his back-pack intently, getting out some food and handing a small portion of it to Whimsy, who accepted it graciously. He then took a little for himself and muttered: "Hmm, getting low..."

The sentence was masked with ambiguity, but there was a fearful flicker in his eyes. He knew just how dangerous it was to be without sufficient supplies, particularly around here as this was no ordinary wilderness.

"Right," he began, gaining her attention instantly. "Since there are two of us, we can cover more ground. But we will have to gain more... if we work effectively, we should have plenty of food and supply to share between us. Since the days are considerably shorter here, we should be heading off at the crack of dawn... we had a little of a lie in today...," he finished his sentence sheepishly, an emotion that, though almost vacant in him, suited him well. He cleared his throat, somewhat bashfully, and picked up his bag once more, slinging it over his shoulders. "And so we're already behind. We best get moving. But stay close – there's no telling when the sun will start setting, and I don't want you on one side of this place and me on the other when it does," and with that being said, he strode past her, beginning to trek into the trees. She squeaked slightly in surprise at how fast he could move, before running to catch up with him. Once back by his side, she began to feel awkward; it seemed Wilson wasn't much of a talker.

"Nice... weather?" she attempted, and shockingly enough, she earned a glance from him; he quirked his brow at her, and then chuckled knowingly, a calculating glint in his coal-black eyes.

"You common folk, with your generic conversation starters," he responded, smirking. Whimsy immediately pouted; she wasn't common! Though deep inside, she knew she was nothing special. She couldn't seem to do even the most simple of tasks right, couldn't even show gratitude to a gentleman who had offered her his company out of greatness and kindness. She wasn't an artist, nor was she a writer or a scientist; she wasn't a historian or a mathematician, nor a lawyer or somebody who defended people like police men and fire-fighters. She didn't _do _anything (apart from sculpt), not necessarily because she couldn't, but because she felt that the former fact was true. She was just... there, and sometimes just being there felt like a complete waste of time.

The small girl decided to walk on ahead, leaving Wilson to collect flint and rocks. She briefly caught him crafting an axe and a pick-axe in order to mine for rocks and obtain wood through cutting the trees down. If she could make something, that would have been great; despite knowing she was at least welcome in Wilson's company, she still felt a little odd asking him for things, such as equipment. Certainly, it would gain them more supplies, but it would also cost him supplies to make them too, and there was something about that that just felt too greedy of her, for whatever reason.

She suddenly felt a light weight on her back.

"What's this?" she blurted out, before she could stop herself.

"It's a back-pack. It's not so durable – it's only made out of grass and a couple of twigs, but it holds together nicely for a few light items. In it, you'll find an axe and a pick-axe," ah, so that's what he'd been crafting them for... "and space for the things you find." he finished, explaining thoroughly. Thinking about it now, she probably could have guessed it was a bag, with the straps over her shoulders and the balanced feel it had over her spine.

With the somewhat demanding usher of Wilson's hands, she scuttled off ahead once more, finding a few pieces of stray meat and a collection of seeds. Then she saw something odd: the ground just before her was silky and white, like... well, silk. It was alien to her though, she hadn't seen it before. Was it common? Was it normal? This was Maxwell's world after all, anything could be possible, she found herself musing. She kneeled down and touched it, the material soft between her thin fingers. And then she was pulled back quickly.

"Don't touch that!" Wilson hissed. She jumped at his tone, not used to his partially harsh ways.

"S-Sorry," she murmured, an embarrassed blush spreading across her face. "But what is it?"

The Gentleman Scientist began to explain. "It's spider silk, great hoards of them live here. If you _must _pass it, go around it." he then shivered slightly, his face clearly expressing his sudden sense of discomfort. "I hate spiders."

She suppressed the urge to laugh. A man of knowledge stood in front of her, and the only thing he seemed disturbed by were the spiders. Not Maxwell's laborious ways, not the lack of food or the shortage of water, not the very little sleep there was to gain (on a normal night anyway), not even the monsters or the evil versions of flowers, trees and ground... but the _spiders_.

He noticed her face as she struggled not to laugh.

"Those things are vicious monsters!" he exclaimed, his voice surprisingly heightening in pitch as he did so, as if the idea was obvious, it was ludicrous.

"Oh of course. Terrible beasts they are," she chimed, throwing a fastidious glance at the pod-shape in the middle of the web, where the silk was the thickest. She would not go against Wilson's advice – she would not touch it. It was just fun making him believe she could be stupid enough to do so.

Now, Wilson was a man of introversion; he liked his peace and his quiet back at home, and he liked the silence. Well, he liked the silence without (most) people; if there was to be complete and utter quiet, he would have most definitely been completely mad by now. It was the gentle whirs of his machines and the abrupt explosions from their funnels or engines that really made life good for him. Even if an experiment was to fail, it would fail because he had put the effort into it, just in the wrong way, and that enough was satisfactory. He felt powerful, knowing that a machine could not succeed without his brilliance and could not fail without his misplaced intelligence.

"I hate spiders," he repeated, firmer this time, before walking past her and around the silk, seemingly on the tip of his toes with his axe trained towards where she presumed the spiders would emerge if they decided to come out. She mimicked his movements comically, only lacking an axe to be his shadow. Once on the other side of the mass, they both heaved a sigh of relief.

And then the sound of growling and hissing sounded.

The pair of them stiffened; the day was drawing to a close already. Had they really slept in that late?! It couldn't have even been possible! But sadly enough, this was Maxwell's world – he could have easily sped things up and slowed things down at his will; it seemed unlikely, of course, and they probably had slept in way too late, but it was always a possibility. A possibility in which loomed in their minds like a negative thought on a bad day.

"I'm guessing we shouldn't move an inch...," Whimsy murmured as quietly as possible, in which Wilson nodded stiffly in response to, the pair of them incredibly uptight and nervous. The male turned his head to see a group of five spiders sat on their silk-woven wonderland, each baring teeth and angry, narrowed eyes. They weren't moving, or striking – they were waiting for the pair to start running. The chase probably enthralled them. Or entertained them. Or both.

The worst of the matter? They needed to make their way around the silk in order to get back to the camp, having crossed before. Slowly, Wilson pulled his axe up.

"We have no choice, I'm afraid. We need to get past," he said, gesturing to her bag with his eyes; she slowly pulled the pick-axe that had been crafted for her out of the grassy bag. If she was being honest, she felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins; despite not having encountered spiders before (shocking really, as they were probably some of the most common things there), she had definitely encountered hounds and tallbirds and frogs, which, in her humble opinion, were way worse than a few spiders. Still, Wilson's air of grim discomposure was not doing anything to lift her spirits up, though the natural instinct to fight was settling into her veins slowly. She was slightly abrasive by nature, and that often showed through when she fought for something she felt passionate about; she was passionate about living, even if at times, it seemed there wasn't much to live for.

"We go on three...?" asked Whimsy and Wilson shook his head.

"They won't wait for three."

Without another word, the two charged into combat, axes raised high and eyes narrowed competitively. As soon as their feet moved forward, the spiders leapt into action, gnashing at whatever they could get their drooling mouths on. Whimsy slapped one of them hard on the centre of the head just as it came charging towards Wilson and it immediately turned to a pile of mush on the ground, spilling silk and a gooey looking appendage; looking now, Wilson was sweating like crazy. He really didn't like these things...

He stabbed a couple with ease to spare, but then got bitten on the leg. His response was minute, though noticeable as pain flickered in those usually stoic eyes. Feeling a sudden rage, Whimsy swung hard at a lone spider and knocked one of its legs off, sending it madly off balance. She was not normally this successful when it came to fighting – she knew how to fight, but didn't always do so with precision and accuracy. But now... it felt as if she could take on just about anything, and kill it. Maxwell was clever to stay away at this moment in time!

After the gruelling attacks, they both halted in their motions, breathing heavily. It shouldn't have taken so much out of them... not at all. She was tired and flinching with fatigue and pain, but she felt triumphant. Wilson looked about ready to drop to his knees – probably the work of the venom working through his body. Cautiously, she went towards him, wiping the edge of her axe on the grass below and touched her hand to his shoulder; he stiffened in response.

"A-Are you okay?" she questioned worriedly. Wilson looked her way and gave her what she supposed was meant to be an assuring grin.

"Ahah... of course. It's just a scratch." he laughed nervously. She knew he wasn't okay – he always, in the short time she had known him, looked so brave, so cool, like he constantly had a grip on what he was doing. In this case, he simply looked lost and confused. Slowly, she looked down at where the spider had caught him with its sharp teeth – the teeth had easily ripped through his pants and had gone quite deep into the skin. "You should pick up those spider glands there. They make good... healing salves..." he winced.

Despite their gross exterior, she did so without complaint. Slowly, with no more spiders in sight, they cautiously edged around the webs once more, knowing they would be more prone to attack at night, and wandered back to the camp. As the setting sun did its business and disappeared, Whimsy was the one to throw the logs onto the fire as Wilson seated himself near it. It had been quite an eventful day. And an incredibly short one at that.

After careful guidance from the Gentleman Scientist, she managed to put together some kind of medical substance and eagerly handed it to him, letting him do whatever it is he would do with it after he insisted he no longer needed her assistance. She pulled meat out of her back-pack and began to cook it thoroughly. As she cooked it, Wilson raised his head and watched.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his words hitting the bitter cold of the night. The days were getting colder and they progressed... perhaps Winter was coming soon?

"It was nothing." she smiled meekly, actually feeling shy under his praise. It did her heart good to do something nice for him – it was the least she could do. She fiddled with the meat as it hung limply over the fire on a stick; if she had any other means of getting it cooked, then she definitely would have taken it. This method was tedious and boring. The young man noticed the way her fingers curled around the stick as she twisted it contemplatively.

"Painter?" he asked, gesturing to her fingers. They did indeed look as if she had held a drawing utensil for a long time and simply applied it to everything she did in some way or form. However, the great Wilson was wrong. Slowly, she shook her head, giving him a somewhat smug grin.

"Sculptor." she replied. He raised his eyebrows in what appeared to be surprise.

"Not a common trade as far as I'm concerned. I haven't seen much of it, truthfully. Most intriguing. I can imagine your parents were impressed."

"My parents don't agree with it," she said, perhaps a little too quickly. A silence fell over them. It was true – her family were nothing bad, and they both loved her very dearly. She was a lucky girl who still had both of her parents and problems were not plentiful – that, and she also had the liberty of being the only child. But the one thing she couldn't stand about them was their lack of acceptance; for years, her mother had wanted Whimsy to partake in the fashion department of things and express herself beautifully. Whimsy didn't care for prestigious clothes and mannerisms and detested the base of it intensely. Her father on the other hand, who was a passionate photographer, wanted his daughter to follow him in the photography business and take over his shop in the little town she lived in. It was in no way famous, but it did well enough. Photography was the lesser of two evils, as she actually enjoyed photography. However, her passion was not there – and besides, she couldn't take pictures almost as well as her father could; her frames always seemed blurry and too angular, while her father's were pretty and pristine with natural textures and beauty. She could never pull off the talent her father seemed to host naturally. He took the best family portraits too – she had one by her bedside table with her and her mother cuddled together on the couch, Whimsy's toy lion (back from when she was younger – she hadn't had the heart to get rid of it yet) sitting in between them, snug as a bug. It was one of her most treasured possessions, but she never took it with her anywhere – she was too afraid she would lose it.

She had discovered sculpting in the presence of a broken vase back when she had knocked it over and had wanted to fix it before her father came home to save him being cross with her. She had put it back together perfectly, piece for piece, and felt upmost joy when doing so. She began to break things on purpose – plates, drinking glasses, anything that could shatter – in order to fix them back together. While her family were quite impressed with her skill, they didn't take too kindly to their things being broken; even still, they enrolled her in an art school while she was a young child, in which she expanded on her sculpting nicely. When it came to college and University, however, she had wanted to expand on these talents, and her mother and father had gone completely against it.

It wasn't fair, but what exactly could she do? Even so, she was transported here before she could make her choice: whether to simply put up with the course, or to not go to college or University and simply begin a sculpture business of some sorts on her own.

"I'm sorry for that." Wilson finally broke the silence once more. "I could say I found myself in the same predicament with my parents regarding Science."

The girl felt sad on his behalf. It was so terrible, not having any kind of support. Judging by Wilson's expression, the disagreement between his parents and himself was much stronger than anything Whimsy's parents could ever match up to. As the meat sizzled, the pair took a piece of it and ate, their stomachs feeling much better as they did so.

"And now you're a first class scientist. Fancy that." she grinned. He graced her with a smile, combing through his thick black hair and then looked back at her somewhat sadly.

"Hardly. I was a total failure..." he sighed, the smile still on his face anyway. He cleared his throat and rubbed his knee self consciously. "But I know enough to survive, Whimsy. I am good at Science." he finished, before standing up and walking to his bag, taking out two straw rolls.

"What are they?" she asked.

"We sleep in them. The good thing is, they disintegrate when the daylight comes, so our bodies will detect when it disappears and wake us up at the crack of dawn. We must move faster tomorrow – I was hoping to move camp. I was comfortable here, but those blasted spiders are too near..." as he explained himself, he handed her a straw roll and climbed into his own. "Goodnight." he bid her, before throwing a few more logs onto the fire to ensure it wouldn't go out whilst they were sleeping.

"Night...," she whispered as she curled up in her straw roll and pondered a while. Thinking she needed to sleep, she closed her eyes dutifully and forced the black sea of numbness to wash over her, all the while thinking about Wilson's unfortunate predicament.

**X x**

**Done, finally!**

**I'm sorry this took a while to update. A) It was kind of a pain to write, I wasn't happy with it several times and kept changing it. First, it was hounds, but then I thought it was too early in, then I decided on spiders, but just retreating, then decided I wanted combat, then wrote out the combat so detailed that it dragged on and then finally came up with this, and B) because UI had exam prep and finals to worry about.**

**But please, review, and tell me what you thought!**

**The next update will probably – hopefully – be soon. I may try to update again tomorrow night if I have any ideas. :)**

**~Jess~**


	4. The Ultimatum

**Hey guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that.**

**So, sorry for the pause in updates – I recently lost access to my computer due to it literally exploding on me... but it was fixed, so yeah. I'm a little rusty as I had the perfect plan, but then forgot as I couldn't write it up; I tried to jot it down somewhere, but it just slipped my mind. Plus, I still have exams and such things – a Physics one on Thursday – wish me luck. I'll need it.**

**But anyhow, please review and tell me what you thought. Also, a HUGE thank you to everybody who reviewed, favourited and followed this story – it honestly means a whole bunch to me! I hope this chapter is to all of you guys' likings~!**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

Whimsy had slept terribly that night, her mind too busy to simply shut up and allow her to drop off. Before she knew it, a shadow had cast over her face, so dark, she could see it through her closed eyes. Cloudy day? Winter approaching? So many possibilities and yet, all she found herself hoping for was the constantly-slipping chance of more sleep.

"I'd appreciate your attention." she heard. She let out a groan – of all the things it could have been, it just _had _to be her wake-up call. Grouchily, she opened her eyes and glared at the scientific genius above her. He seemed undeterred as he grinned back at her. "And a very good morning to you!" he chimed. He was obviously being sarcastic with her, and she certainly didn't appreciate it. She attempted to roll over and ignore him, only for her straw roll to disappear; of course. It diminished by morning. Of _course _it did.

She huffed and sat up begrudgingly, feeling her head go a little cloudy from lack of sleep. Any minute now, she'd be fine – she was used to staying up for days on end when she was completely indulged in a single sculpture she was particularly enthusiastic about anyway. But this was different – she had had heavy thoughts that night, thinking about why her parents had been so against her sculpting. Of course she had thought about it before, but talking to Wilson about it the previous night had brought up all the pent up... _hate _she felt. The bitterness and anger had been buried and she had so carelessly allowed herself to believe it had simply disappeared, time being it's remedy. But no... it was still there, and it was making her feel worse and worse the more she thought about it. The worst thing? She couldn't _stop _thinking about it.

She sighed and stood up, feeling the man's eyes on her. She turned to him slowly to see him studying her closely.

"_What_?" she asked, a little sharper than necessary. Wilson merely shrugged and raised his hands slowly in the form of a submissive gesture, eye contact strangely alluring as he held onto it. Her stomach gave an odd lurch as he did – she didn't like it.

"Nothing, nothing," he muttered, hesitantly making his way past her, hands still raised. She allowed him to brush past her and watched as he slung his bag over his shoulders. "We best get moving. I'm aiming to move camp, remember," he told her pointedly as he pulled out the ordinary berries and offered them to her. In protest, her stomach twisted and she politely refused. He seemed to freeze, watching her shake her head; if it was him, he would have never refused food, even if he wasn't hungry, but he didn't question her choice as he hesitantly put them back. She'd probably come around later, he found himself thinking. It was early after all.

Wilson couldn't help but stare as she pulled her bag that he had made for her over her shoulders; she seemed to slouch. Or sigh. Or both. It was probably just a "girl thing", he mused. He was intelligent enough to know that women were intuitive but poisonous. They could be the sweetest thing to exist... or the moodiest. The best... or the worst. And the rate at which they changed was incredible too; he was actually leaning to a whole new hypothesis that women, contrary to popular belief, were even more primitive than men!

"Let's go then." Whimsy sighed. "Which way?"

"The opposite way to those pesky spiders," Wilson replied, leading them west and away from the possible threat. He felt like they were plodding on forever; the girl was being exceptionally slow. He didn't say anything, was too polite to, plus it gave him more time to look at suitable places for camp. Judging by his calculations, they had plenty of time before dusk reared it's ugly head, so there wasn't exactly much need to take it particularly quickly.

He paused as he saw some rabbit holes sat happily enough on top of some soft looking yellow grass. He scanned as far as he could see – there seemed to be no interference, except the occasional rabbit that flitted by as fast as it's lean legs would carry it. They would have a constant food supply if they stayed there... but it still seemed too near to the spiders. Perhaps, since this land stretched out as far as Wilson could see, they could move on further and they'd find a place just as nice a little further down.

Suddenly, a cloud of smoke puffed up out of nowhere, making the gentleman and the sculptor cough heavily.

"You seem to be ambling along nicely."

That sarcastic drone, that unforgiving tone, those crisply drawn out syllables. It had to be none other than...

"_You!"_ Wilson heard the girl beside him screech and only just managed to grab her before she leaped for the surprise 'guest' to tear him to shreds. Struggling against her surprisingly strong pull, Wilson held her back and glared venomously at who he knew was there. Maxwell, on the other hand, did not seem fussed, as he cracked a smile and stood just in front of Whimsy, only an inch out of reach. He also seemed to be enjoying himself as she made furious grabs for him and cursed at him. Some of the words escaping her mouth, Wilson had never even _heard _before. Alas, they seemed to be having no effect on the twisted man opposite her.

"I can always let go of her," Wilson hissed. Maxwell let loose his trademark crooked grin.

"You wouldn't. You're much too soft," he cooed, mocking him with his abstract calmness. If it was one thing Maxwell was aside from a cheat and a liar, it was crazily composed; there was no telling what kind of trick he'd pull out next, and his variation seemed endless. He also seemed to have a natural knack for torture and horror as he littered the land Wilson had trodden upon for ten days straight with new and more advanced evils every single day. He looked dapper, but even the Gentleman Scientist could have passed for dapper had he had a proper suit and tie; looking the part meant nothing as far as he was concerned.

The young male hardened his gaze and let out a "tsk" of impatience, still holding on strongly to Whimsy's waist (not having anything else to grab as she had darted forwards too quickly). She had given in a tad now, her motions having weakened when she didn't feel Wilson let up like she was expecting. She was slightly disappointed honestly, she was hoping the otherwise polite man would have let her go so that she could seriously pummel her "maker". Not that she would have landed any dire hits, but the satisfaction gained from even swiping him would have been enough for her.

"Most interesting. I didn't expect you to join together," the spiteful man continued on, and Wilson let go of the female as she stopped struggling completely and just peered up at him, waiting for him to continue. "Hardly fair. Seems you're playing my rules a little bit." he hesitated purposefully, making the two victims hold their breath in fearful anticipation.

"We're merely using number to our advantage," Wilson batted back when Maxwell didn't say anything else. He heightened his brow at the gentleman's statement and the smirked a cruel smirk.

"But, if there are two of you, surely you do not need as much _time_."

By now, Whimsy's face had paled entirely; she was white anyway and so by now, she looked like a fading ghost. She shifted on her feet apprehensively, her bandages rustling against her shirt non-too-quietly. She was seriously beginning to doubt whether she was any kind of asset to Wilson at all. All she seemed to do was slow him down... and ask ridiculous questions. She didn't even know what a _straw roll _was, for Pete's sake! She hung her head in shame, trying her best to block out the two men bickering amongst themselves like school children.

"You can't just _change _days. That goes against Science!" Wilson exclaimed, quite heated and bothered. Even Maxwell was beginning to get serious as he sneered at the smaller male with malice.

"Your precious Science doesn't _exist _as far as I'm concerned, Pal. My world, my rules," he snapped in return, leaving Wilson to hopelessly fall silent. He couldn't even begin to come up with an argument. What could he even say against that?! It _was _his world and they _were _his rules. He had no way of questioning that. "And so what I propose is an ultimatum." he finished, earning the scientist's attention almost instantly. He didn't like the sound of the world, but anything that left the lips of Maxwell was not to be fancied.

"A-An ultimatum...?"

"Pal... leave the girl. Then I can give you more time...," he paused as a shadowy arm wrapped around Wilson's shoulders invitingly. "I can be easier on you. More supply... more _food_... now wouldn't that be just brilliant?"

Indeed it would be! The struggle would die down, and he would be freed of worry and stress. And then he was yanked back to reality. This was _Maxwell_ he was talking about! There was no doubt he'd break his promises and potentially harm her too. He hadn't known Whimsy for long, but he wasn't prepared to lose her. He had taken her on board out of goodness, and she wouldn't be leaving him any other way. If she couldn't leave peacefully, then there was no way Wilson was taking any chances.

"You're a rotten _liar,_" Wilson growled, surprising even himself. He wasn't one for hostility. Even when the pesky children about his neighbourhood had been "investigating" his house; merely because it was different. Because it wasn't situated with the others. Because most of the town's civilians had heard explosions coming from there. Because he was _strange_. No, he was _brilliant_, was what he was. Angrily, he shrugged the shadow hand off of him and went towards Whimsy, taking her wrist forcefully, pulling her out of her daze.

"She's staying with me." he snarled, eyes seeming to darken ominously. He wasn't one to be messed with – he appreciated good manners – after all, they were free – and didn't care for violence in most situations, but there was a side of him that dropped his morale. Why should he treat others who had no morale with his morale in mind? It didn't make sense to him. Why should he strive to be "the better man" if they weren't going to appreciate his efforts anyway?

"Wilson..." she murmured, but before she could say anything else, Maxwell intervened.

"All right, Pal," he shrugged. "Your choice. Your _bad _choice."

And with those threatening words, he disappeared into a cloud of smoke. Whimsy took a second to hold her breath – she was almost certain Wilson would get mad at her for yelling and kicking and screaming at Maxwell, but all he seemed capable of doing was stalking ahead. He must not have realised, but he was dragging her along, having kept a firm grip on her wrist. She didn't try to fight, just stumbled to keep up with his furious pace.

She thought to say something, but what could she possibly say at a time like this? Wilson's hair seemed even more electrified than normal with frenzy and perhaps rage; it wasn't proven, but who needed their hypothesises proven when he was in such a state? Surely the results spoke for themselves.

She thought to speak up. To ask him why. Why he had abandoned a potentially better existence... in turn for her. But could she do that? Slowly, she worked up the courage to squeak: "Wilson...?"

He probably didn't hear her as they marched onwards. He didn't speak the whole way there, didn't even change direction, and she wasn't sure if he noticed, but they walked past multiple supplies and even some spiders at one point; he looked untouchable in his mini-fit of what seemed to be rage. She didn't even understand why he was so angry, in fact. Was he upset because he knew that he was being played by Maxwell? Or was it because he knew he should have chosen better because it was too hard? Or perhaps it was because he was sick of empty promises? She certainly couldn't pinpoint a reason, they all seemed too good.

So she did the only thing she could do:

She hung her head and remained silent.

**X x**

**Done~!**

**Hmm, confrontation from the asshole Maxwell – he was very hard to write, actually. What a pai- I mean, _Pal._ Anyhow, the next chapter to my story will be the second part to this. I was originally gonna have it as a full, huge chapter, but it's getting late and I have an exam tomorrow, so it will have to be split up. I will try to update ASAP though – perhaps Friday night. Review please~!**

**~Jess~**


	5. Maybe He's Not The Only Mad One

**Hey guys, it's me, Jesspikapal here, but you probably already knew that.**

**So anyhow, I was feeling REALLY mean leaving the chapter off there last night (despite feeling generous beforehand as I actually updated when I was extremely pushed for time) so I decided to continue it promptly. I literally refused to study today, despite my exam being tomorrow – this one, I need NOTHING on and it would be a waste of time when I could be studying something else. So yes, I did take the time to write instead, but fear not, I will achieve well. **

**Anyhow, please review and thank you to everybody who reviewed you so far, you guys are great! Oh, one more thing, in this fanfic, since the days on the game are effectively eight minutes long, I am making mine about... six to eight hours long, depending on circumstance, because eight minutes just isn't enough, haha. And the night will be about... three or four hours, ish. Or longer, again, depending on circumstance. So yeah, just so you know about the time frame and such. **

**Also, seen as though this chapter is simply the second part of the previous chapter, nothing much will happen, though by the next chapter, things will pick up again – I figured there's not much point starting anything major when they're already had half – or more – of the day already, bickering with Maxwell and Wilson's stalking.**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

Silence to her had never seemed so bleak and cruel. They had been walking for a couple of hours now and Wilson had not yet let up on her wrist; he was muttering profusely under his breath, but she couldn't hear any of what he was saying. Just blind, belligerent fury. She was deeply commiserating ... if she hadn't have been around, he wouldn't have found himself in this mess. She could only hope he'd find a way to make his way around it, while still holding on to her in all the confusion. She didn't blame herself exactly – it's not like she was at fault for accepting the invitation – she just wished she could see herself as more of an aid to the gentleman before her than a burden.

Suddenly, very suddenly, he ceased walking and she walked into him clumsily, apologising repeatedly as she stepped away from him again.

"Here is good," he said firmly, and with that, he dropped his things. He turned his back on her and stretched, combing his gloved hands through his tousled black hair. Though it was still stood upright like an obnoxious bolt of disfigured lightning, it seemed droopier than normal with fatigue and a craving for cleanliness. Wilson sighed outwardly. "I'm going to wash."

The statement caught her off guard as she did a double take.

"Y-You and what bath?!" she exclaimed. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the faint blush from creeping onto her face; she rubbed her face gently on either side, trying to work the colour down so that when Wilson turned back around, he wouldn't be face to face with a babbling idiot who couldn't seem to compose herself. She fiddled with a lock of hair and worked it around her finger. Thinking about it now, she could use a good clean herself.

He turned to her again. He in no way looked happy. "The ponds, Whimsy. I can find a pond." he explained lightly, brushing her off as he wandered past her, picking up a pick-axe. Better safe than sorry, he always thought. "Now, stay here. I won't be too long. And please," he paused to turn and look at her. "Don't get into any trouble..."

And with that, he was off.

Whimsy sat on the grass, feeling empty and bewildered. It hadn't been long, but it felt odd not having the scientist by her side. She didn't like it; not at all. Slowly, she plucked a flower and began to pick the petals from the centre, letting them fall to the ground like colourful rain; out of habit, her fingers began to pull apart the stem delicately, before weaving the extremely thin strands together. Her precision was effortless and her product, neatly weaved and tight, was flawless. If it was one thing she could do, it was make anything look pretty. She then set to work, picking up petals and gently attaching them together with naught but a tiny lick to her fingers. The petals seemed to stick together like magic.

She then peered wistfully at Wilson's back-pack. Surely he wouldn't miss a single flower...

Feeling safe with the fact that he hadn't left till about two minutes ago, she darted forwards and searched the pouch of his bag for anything she could use. Eventually, she found a rather elaborate looking flower, with spikes coming from it's shoots and dull, weak colours on the petals; it wasn't as vibrant and cheery as she'd been hoping for, but beggars certainly couldn't be choosers. As she touched the plant, she felt an odd surge of happiness go to her head and a strange buzz filled her ears. She continued to tamper with it until eventually, she had dismantled it nicely, piece by piece, and had started to rid the somewhat threatening interior of it's pale petals and shoots. The left over stem drooped lifelessly in her small hands and she silently wished there was some way that she could apply it to her mini-creation.

Finally done, she held it at arm's length and examined her handy work: a small, abstract bracelet-type thing stared back at her, pretty and dainty-looking. Slowly, she put it around her wrist and laid her head back against the grass, feeling relaxed, more relaxed than she'd ever felt in this place.

As a half hour passed, she laid there in the same golden silence. And then she heard footsteps.

"Sorry I took a while, Whimsy. I-I had to get my clothes dry...please excuse me." she heard Wilson mumble. He sounded strangely flustered, and as she turned to look up at him, she immediately wished she hadn't. His hair was incredibly spiky, and the front was matted to his fore-head, still dripping slightly. His pants, still damp and creased, hung loosely around his legs and his shirt wasn't there at all; it was in his hands as he busied himself wringing it out,a medium-sized puddle beginning to pool about his feet on the grassy earth. Though his over-vest was slung on, it was far too big for him without his shirt on, and so it didn't really do much good covering him. Big eye twitching, she slowly turned her head and rolled the opposite way, a small noise of what seemed to be a mixture of horror and disbelief emitting from her mouth; he didn't look bad – not at all – but that was just the point. She shouldn't think that. She should _not _be thinking about those things... no, survival... food... supply... she needed her head straightened out!

She promptly felt warmth lick at her arm: a fire. Of course, to dry his shirt.

"H-How was the... bath?" she forced out, trying to feel less awkward. He made a little choked noise and immediately set out to reply to her.

"Water was cold."

As he crafted a rope, made out of tightly woven grass, he then tied it round a stick and then wrapped the sleeve of his shirt around the end of the stick, then holding the entire thing over the fire. It was a good way for him to host it there without having to hold the shirt up for hours on end himself – as he finished making a hole in the ground to put the stick into and grant it security, he stood and pulled out three dead fish.

"I also brought back a snack," he said matter-o-factly as he stuck three sticks into the dead animals and propped them over the fire the same way his shirt was. He then shuffled to sit beside the girl. By now, Whimsy was sat up and was toying with her newly made accessory that clung limply to her wrist; Wilson saw it almost immediately and cocked his head at it. "Where did you get that from?" he questioned, and she raised her head to look at him before whispering:

"I made it..."

Looking at him, he looked tired; the bags under his eyes were very prominent and obvious, and it was a wonder he was still awake and moving so quickly and efficiently. Perhaps he was used to it, being a scientist? Perhaps he had had many sleepless nights like her, but instead of fixing tiny pieces of pot together, he was working intricate circuits to life and screwing tiny nuts and bolts into their desired places. His fun... Science, she didn't know much about. Perhaps she would ask him. But not now. For now, all she could think about was their interaction with Maxwell earlier. The way he had sneered when Wilson had refused him so confidently, and the way he had _promised _things would get worse, just from the evil tone he had used. She was worried about that – he had mentioned time. What was he even planning to do with time? Could he even change time? Of course, it was his world... but time was relative, wasn't it? Even so, Whimsy found herself worrying, but once again felt oddly soothed as the new bracelet ran a secure loop around her wrist.

"You definitely have talent." Wilson smiled softly at her, taking her wrist to take a closer look at the pretty work. As his cold eyes surveyed her passions, she saw an odd shadow sit on his shoulder. Rubbing her eyes with her free hand and wrist, she blinked hard and stared ahead, concentrating dutifully. The thing she thought she had seen no longer occupied Wilson at all; it seemed to have vanished into thin air. Meanwhile, Wilson was staring at the petals; they looked awfully dull for something so pretty. He had noticed it from a distance, actually, but had decided against saying anything, far too busy thinking of other matters to question her choice in petals. Still, they looked a little odd...

"Thanks...," she mumbled emptily, staring ahead as she tried to find any signs of the mysterious shadow again. Nothing. Just a couple of butterflies in the distance, and a rabbit or two. She shook her head slowly. She was probably dizzy and distant from lack of food; she'd refused Wilson's grub earlier. Perhaps she was just in need of her stomach filling. As if on cue, a giant fish was handed to her on a board of wood and her stomach groaned like a caged animal. "You should eat. You haven't for the duration of today," Wilson instructed gently, handing her a fork. He was being so caring... what was the matter with him?

Nevertheless, she dug in and felt a wave of relief wash over her as she chewed, swallowed and ate. Her taste, for whatever reason, seemed intensified to her; it didn't bother her, but it was quite peculiar, considering there was no real reason for it. She pushed it aside as simply craving to eat something.

"Wilson...?" she asked and the Gentleman Scientist looked her way, raising his 'brows in question as he chewed his helping placidly. "...Why did you refuse Maxwell like that?"

His shoulders tensed ostentatiously.

"Of course I'm not giving in to him. What did you expect?" he murmured towards the ground, surprisingly gruff. The young female briefly wondered whether she should continue to press him – he seemed irritated already. But it was killing her, not knowing and so she would continue, just for a little longer.

"I-I mean... I didn't take you for a fool, I didn't think for a second you would trust him," she attempted to undo her clumsy wording from before. "B-But he promised such great things... how could you... well, _not_ give in?"

"I'm not only a man of Science, but a man of sense, m'dear. I know exactly the kind of crook he is. A fiendish brute with a knack for exploiting others in their worst of times. I may not know about his schemes, one by one, but I do know that every single one of them is both unpleasant and something to make somebody else's life difficult. That already puts me in a completely different league of intelligence to him."

Meanwhile, Whimsy listened intently, intrigued by the slightly older male's intelligence. It was true, he was some kind of brilliant mastermind. A genius. It was a wonder her wasn't famous for his extensive knowledge and his implicit understanding of things. His sentences were not only true, but well structured as well, his words flowing like the finest of poetry. It was too bad she considered herself such a down-beat, which destroyed those notes of wisdom almost instantly. She half-heartedly wished she was clever like him; life would probably be so much easier if she had the mind to know how to deal with it. True, she was never the worst off in her classes back when she actually existed at home, but it wasn't as if she was in any outstanding universities or schools or even colleges – even the art school she went to, which hosted her in _her field _wasn't renowned in any possible way.

"And besides," the man continued, earning Whimsy's attention once more. "I haven't known you for that long, but I know a good person when I see one. There's no possible way I could trade you – or anybody else – in for Maxwell's empty promises." he finished, giving her a sincere glance as he finished his fish with a contented smile. Before Whimsy could say anything, Wilson had stood up and made his way to the fire, gently tapping his shirt as it hung obediently over the fire from before; nodding, satisfied, he picked the article of clothing off of the 'rail' and, after slipping out of his vest, slipped his trademark shirt and vest on properly.

Whimsy fiddled with the bandages and ties around her arms – they'd need replacing soon. She silently hoped that Wilson had some means of giving her some type of medicine or healing product, but she didn't want to hold her breath in that respect.

And then she saw it again. The shadow. But this time, it danced on the grass before her; something wasn't right here... she was feeling quite faint now, and she'd just eaten, so it wasn't down to fatigue. Sleepless the previous night was a possible explanation... but she didn't feel all that tired as she tried to steady her slightly hazy vision. She shivered briefly, feeling a creeping sensation up her arms. Wilson, behind the dying fire, noticed her odd twitches from the corner of his eye and turned his head to watch.

It was beckoning her. And she was tempted to follow. Like a dog being called back by it's generous owner, she felt powerless to stop the feeling of submission wash over her as she slowly slumped to the floor. She could detect a brief pound in her head, though it was numbed out by the ever-fading feeling of her heart beating quickly in her small chest.

"I'm coming...," she whispered hoarsely, as the shadow seemed to halt, disappointment etched into it's features as it slouched, but then waited for her. She tried to get to her feet, only to stumble back to her knees. By now, Wilson was concerned.

"Oh dear..." he mumbled, before getting to his feet and going towards his bag, pulling out a large collection of flowers; expertedly putting them together, he tightened the final knot around the back and inspected his handy work. Without another word, he stood up calmly and went towards her. By now, she was crawling slowly along the floor and after the thing she was convinced was there. Wilson was soon enough by her side, and before anything else could happen, he placed the flowers on her head. A garland.

Quickly, her frenzied movements stopped and her shocking twitches ceased to exist as she blinked rapidly, seeming to recollect where she was. She then looked at her surroundings, before turning her head slowly to look up at Wilson, who had his arms folded as he stared back at her, the usual cold black eyes boring into hers. She grinned sheepishly, though a massively embarrassed blush coated her face like a slick layer of paint.

"Well...," she spoke, trying to seem unabashed and unnerved, which made Wilson raise his eyebrows skeptically.

"Well," he repeated, much more firmly as he began to tap his foot. She chuckled and looked up from her position on the floor, her body still stooped low as she kneeled on her hands and knees.

"...this is embarrassing..."

**X x**

**Okie, done!**

**I hope this chapter was okay – it was kinda pushing time again, but no worries – also, I wanted a couple of things to happen. So Whimsy had a little taste of insanity did she? And she got her answers from Wilson, which was a plus! Of course, they were pretty obvious – seems she just loves confirmation, huh? **

**But hey, she made her neat little bracelet – which, if you couldn't tell by now, was made out of an _evil _plant, hence the insanity attack at the end, not to mention her shadow-seeing through the chapter and the buzzing and happiness in her head when it first began to take hold – and Wilson commented on it, which was cute, right?**

**Anyhow, please review!**

**~Jess~**


	6. A Place To Call Home

**Heya, guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!**

**So, anyhow, I recently received college applications and have been invited to one kick-ass college, one of the best in my country. So yeah, super excited for that. So I thought I'd use this excitement to write positively for a bit. I wrote a review for Don't Starve if anybody's interested; it's here: ** . /

**Without further ado, please review and please enjoy! Also, a quick note, I'm assuming that, as long as the characters have the materials, they don't necessarily need a Science Machine to craft things, because that would take too much time, too much description, and too much unnecessary dragging on. I would use the Science machine for things like medicines, concoctions, food supplies and stuff like that, but not necessarily equipment (excluding enhanced things, like gold axes, etc). **

**~Jess~**

**X x**

The start to the day was alarmingly difficult for Wilson; perhaps it was the water soaked thoroughly into his hair getting to his well-endowed brain, or perhaps it was the recent portrayal on Whimsy's behalf; the portrayal that reminded him he was not alone in this never-ending world of cruelty, and that not only he was susceptible to going completely bonkers. It was a big step to see her on her hands and knees from her usual perky (usually) wandering and following. Speaking of which, he couldn't see her anywhere? Where on earth had she disappeared to?

He craned his neck to look at the rising sun, searching for a tell-tale shadow that she was nearby. Nothing. Just the slightly wistful sway of the trees greeted him. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck, getting ready to move; he couldn't keep stopping and starting and waiting for her. It was too risky. Plus, he could have sworn that the day that had just gone by felt shorter than the one before it had... perhaps Maxwell's threat was coming into play now? Perhaps he really was tampering with time. What a villainous crook.

Wilson stood up steadily, stretching his half-asleep muscles unperturbedly.

"Where on earth has she gotten to...?" he asked himself incredulously. There was no possible way she could have gone missing; after the whole crazy-ordeal, she had gone to wash (as best she could) and then had come back to their camp and slept. And he was doing it again. _Their_ camp. Not _his_ camp. _Theirs. _It felt odd, sharing something with somebody, oddly special – despite containing the brilliance of a world-renowned Scientist, he simply couldn't put his finger on why that was. Shrugging his thoughts off, he turned to start walking, only to bump into none other than his friend.

The shock was clear on her face as she dropped what she was carrying – a bundle of logs, rocks, twigs, gold and other masses of things.

"S-Sorry, Wilson!" she cried, as the Gentleman Scientist struggled to compose himself after his mini-heart attack. "I-I was just bringing these things back. I didn't mean to startle you!" she added as she began shovelling things into her pockets (it seemed the pocket logic worked for anybody, he found himself musing through his panic) and then fitting things neatly into her backpack, the small accessory bulging with possessions and items of use. He raised his thick eyebrows, eventually willing his heart rate to decrease once more, shock dissipating in the slightly foggy air that surrounded them.

"What were you doing with those things?" he uttered, somewhat calmly. He was still shaken up, that much he would admit; he half expected a confrontation so early in the morning he'd have been tired for the full day onwards. Though, the thought of _striking _her, even by mistake, terrified him. He wasn't one for violence in any case – excluding spiders, now they were real pests – but definitely not when it involved a lady. He briefly recalled the case he had heard in his village regarding a small girl being beaten by an older lad that liked the wrong side of things more than a sense of respect. Even _thinking _about something so disgustingly wrong made his stomach lurch violently, threatening to empty the contents of his ever-churning gut. Solemnly, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and forced himself to forget; he had bigger problems right now, and they were all revolving around him. Brilliant.

"W-Well... before Maxwell came... you mentioned wanting to move camp. I figured we'd need materials for that so I took it as a responsibility to ensure we had at least something to work with," she mumbled bashfully. Wilson actually cracked a smile – a genuine smile. He hadn't done that in such a long time, excluding when he was complimenting Whimsy's trade and talent. He seemed to be much happier within her company; he briefly pondered as to whether it would be the same had he met somebody else, and it hadn't been Whimsy he had discovered behind the bush.

"Indeed, I did," he grinned, feeling the old spark in his brain: inspiration. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"It's the least I could do!" she exclaimed, looking shocked. He seemed to pull back, confused. In all honesty, though he acknowledged he had offered her comfort and a place to stay out of the good of his heart, it had been his choice. He could've just as easily said he wasn't interested in letting her tag along with him and refused her company, just as he had Maxwell. Granted, Maxwell was a cheat, but he was still human; if Wilson had been _so _desperate for human relations, he wouldn't exactly have been picky as to which human he spent time with, even if the only thing he did with the human in question, was argue. He continued to frown.

"Whimsy," he spoke and she immediately looked up at him, curious. "I honestly don't know why you think you are in my debt. You don't owe me anything."

"Oh, but I do! If you hadn't have found me and let me stay, I'd have been a total goner!"

"Listen," he said gently, refuting her praise. "If there's anything you can do for me, it's to stop putting yourself down so much. You help more than you know – and it hasn't even been that long yet." and the longer he went on for, the more things that were spilling out. And he couldn't stop himself. Wilson, the man of Science and composure, could not stop the words from flowing from his mouth. And why was his brain conjuring up so many? "You make this place a little more bearable, Whimsy. I enjoy having you around."

Meanwhile, she just blinked innocently, so obviously fascinated. She had no idea she had made that much of an impact on his existence in this God-forsaken place, and it was warming her up immensely to know she was actually doing something worthwhile for him. As she shifted from one foot to the other bashfully, she smiled coyly. She was helping Wilson. _Helping_ him. And not through building – not through sculpting, or being excessively clever or even hoarding in supplies, but just by being there. Being there and making him that little bit happier. She could now see why Maxwell would come: he felt threatened by the happiness between them; this place was not a social gathering, to say the least, and the old crook probably didn't like the fact that Wilson had found company, never-mind _decent _company.

"I'll try not to do it so much then...," she murmured, barely audible. Whimsy lifted her head once more to look at him sincerely; she noticed the growing stubble on his face, despite having washed the day before, and the way his hair was tilting. Towards her, slightly swirly and erect and per usual. Wilson seemed to rejoice as his face lit up.

"Very good then!" he exclaimed happily, before looking to the supplies on her back. "So, about those things you brought then. Let me see, please."

Without a moments hesitation, she thrust her bag towards him and he accepted graciously, sifting through the various items. Logs, sticks, grass, twigs, gold, another odd type of metal, rocks, and a tiny portion of food, she had the whole lot. As he peered at the items, a wide grin was spreading across his face. He could build something with this, definitely. He had sufficient supply, just looking at the gold and wood... he could probably do something Science-y and make something of their petty existence. He could do something! Something _productive_!

Whimsy, noticing his grin, began to smile too. Seeing the look of pure inspiration spread across his brilliant face made her insides quiver with excitement, like jelly on a plate. She hadn't yet seen the gentleman in action, and actually feared she never would. Oh, how wrong she was! As she paid attention to the way he was no looking at her, she met his gaze and an excited silence passed between them, before Wilson straightened himself out.

"I will build. You will gather food." he instructed simply, a solid flicker of pride and intelligence passing through his jet-black eyes. Her blank ones narrowed in determination, an odd sense of empowerment flowing through her veins, just as it used to. This was living. This was surviving. Enduring was a dull way to look at it – after all, endurance did not guarantee anybody's well-being in the end, but she had settled for it at a time. Now, she was feeling optimistic. Positive, even!

"Right you are!" she saluted, before running off a little ways into the forest ahead of them. Wilson shook his head at her comical silliness and set to work. Screwing things together (he had to use his pick-axe – it was a tricky job, but it worked eventually with much patience and perseverance) and hammering things into place (using the blunt end of his axe and a whole lot of precision), the scientist was on fire. He hadn't felt so alive in a long, long, _long _time! Eventually, he stepped back and admired his handy work. There stood a little machine with a couple of curious gears and rickety legs and what looked to be like a "flour bag" exterior. However, it was standing and working, and it was _his._

He stood back and admired his handy work, making a satisfied face as he watched his creation whir with anticipated activity. Wilson smirked knowingly, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

"Let there be... _Science..."_

_**X x**_

Plodding triumphantly away from the spider's nest, she took the silk back to the clearing she had left her other pieces of equipment in. She took the stick she had collected earlier from the floor and wrapped the slick silk firmly around it, being careful not to snap it (granted, she added some extra ties that Wilson would not have thought of in order to make it stronger, due to her creative talent) and demolish her meek creation. Satisfied, she held it at arm's length. It was a suitable fishing rod.

As she sat by a pond, she looked up at the sky; it seemed to be dimming ever-quickly, as if day was dwindling like a dying candle. She hoped she had some kind of source soon; she was worried about being left out there all alone, with the scary noises and the terrifying movements. She'd never been afraid of the dark before – before, all the dark meant to her was a blanket of silence, which trapped people in an involuntary hatch of sleepiness, only to wake the next day happy and refreshed. It wasn't a threat, or a bully, but a comfort. But here was different. Here was _evil_. And she didn't like it.

As she felt a tug at her line, she began to reel in the thing carefully. Eventually, she pulled out a frog, which immediately started biting at her. Standing quickly, she detached it from the line of silk, ever-weakening, and began to stamp on the creature, apologising every time she did so. It was a monster by the looks of it, however, with it's large, seemingly detachable mouth, which hosted sharp fangs and a long, powerful tongue, and it's strong legs that propelled it forwards at alarmingly fast speeds.

As the 'frog' died, she collected her winnings smoothly: frog legs, three of them (goodness knows how there were _three _sets of them since the damn thing only had two, but was she going to question Maxwell's nefarious game, or was she going to take them without question and actually eat?) and a leathery skin. She doubted there was much she could use it for... but then remembered that Wilson could probably find something to use it for, and so held onto it dutifully. A couple of lucky strokes later – in which she caught two fish and wound up an old key of some kind, tiny and rusty – the silk snapped and the rod was no longer useful, so she threw the remains of it into a bush (berry-less, sadly) and began to go back, looking for any more food on the way back.

**X x**

Meanwhile, Wilson was juggling wooden boards and cut stones with ease, placing them down in a neat pile beside his Science machine. All was going brilliantly... and as Whimsy stumbled through the clearing, everything seemed to be set for perfection; food was coming in, the materials were coming along fantastically.

And yet it was to be expected that Maxwell was scheduled to come back and rear his unwanted presence. As the older man settled beside Wilson – who was trying his best ignore him – he began to fiddle innocently with the gear on his machine, earning a glare from the gentleman.

"What do you want?" he hissed, and Maxwell raised his 'brows, apparently amused by the annoyance.

"How rude," he mocked, disappearing from Wilson's side and heading over to Whimsy's, who was staring hard at the floor. He touched a finger to her head, making her stiffen. "Are you _sure _you don't want to separate?" - with this sentence, Whimsy growled under her breath, earning an equally amused smirk from Maxwell, just as he had with Wilson. The pair of them found their patience depleting ever so quickly as the crook simply stayed alongside them in comfortable silence; they found it incredibly irritating as he simply rocked on his heels beside them, especially as he was delectably calm whilst they were simmering in their boots.

"Tell me, Percival," at this, Wilson's head tilted upwards, eye twitching. "Are you tired?"

He found the question ludicrous. What kind of a question was that anyway? As Wilson struggled to collect his thoughts, he settled for shaking his head like a daft, delirious dummy. Maxwell grinned his crooked grin and snapped his fingers, a straw roll appearing. By now, both of them were thoroughly confused, and Whimsy did her best to figure out what on earth Maxwell was actually hinting at while Wilson stood there eyeing his machine protectively.

"Why don't you take a lie down, Wilson...?" the puppeteer 'offered' charitably. Immediately, Wilson shook his head as fast as could be. Maxwell sniggered. "Why not? After all, it's night now, Pal." and with that, disappeared. As sudden as could be, the world around them was pitch black, and an ominous sound began to ring in their ears. Whimsy immediately began to panic, feeling something brush her arm, and she squeaked in terror. Meanwhile, she could hear Wilson fumbling with equipment, before a light shone in the near distance; immediately, she hurtled towards it and grabbed onto Wilson, terrified.

The gentleman stiffened conspicuously as he held the torch above his head. "Thank goodness I keep material alongside me," he whispered in relief, whilst Whimsy tried to huddle closer to the flame. It was already dying out, which was threatening to them both. "Whimsy, there is firewood by my Science Machine. Please, go and get it." Wilson requested uneasily. Shakily, she took the torch from him and walked ahead slightly, feeling her foot bump something hard; she quickly picked it up and threw it back to Wilson, who jumped as it arrived by his feet.

"Thank you," he muttered as he set up a camp fire with lightning fast reactions. "Oh... b-but... I transformed most of the logs into wooden boards for our camp..." he added, his face alight with horror at his realisation. Whimsy touched his hand and put something in it. It was fluffy and warm, and he soon realised it was grass. He seemed to exhale a small breath of relief as he threw it onto the fire and the flame grew precariously, lighting both of their faces with a tender blaze, the flames tickling their faces with their generous warmth.

"The... crook," yes, Whimsy was going to curse. However, she didn't see it as appropriate around somebody who valued manners as much as he did. She gave him an apologetic smile as he raised his eyebrow in question. "I-I can't believe he shrunk our days!" she growled, the anger carved into her pale face. She was feeling shaken up and betrayed. To be expected, but still a major punch in the gut, no doubt. Wilson shook his head slowly.

"The sad thing is, I _can _believe it. I... knew it was coming," he trailed, appearing upset. Again, it didn't matter whatever Wilson said to her. She always managed to make herself feel guilty, especially when he looked so sad. Granted, he may have been more lonely without her, but it sure seemed he could move quicker, more effectively and smoother without her being the compromise between an easy ride and a companionship. But for now, what could she do? She wasn't prepared to leave Wilson after finally getting comfortable... and she was almost certain

he wouldn't allowed her to leave anyhow, not now. Tactfully, she switched the topic.

"You mentioned a camp, Wilson? What, is this some kind of base or something?"

Wilson gave her a smile. A slightly saddened smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"A base? I prefer 'a place to call home'. Don't you think a 'base' sounds too... military?" he quizzed, and Whimsy mulled over her choices. Safe to say, he was right yet again; testing the word on her tongue, she did feel like some kind of cast-away soldier who was strewn across numerous battlefields.

"A home then," she mimicked in good will. Wilson nodded.

"Yes. A home would be nice..."

**X x**

**Done!**

**Okie, so, please review! Dun dun dun, looks like their days have gotten shorter. Goddamn Maxwell! **

**~Jess~**


	7. Well, A Radio's Not Much Better!

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!**

**So anyhow, here I am yet again with another chapter of The Wonders of Human Contact. You'd think I'd have a life by now, eh? But no, all I have is to update this piece of crap and please you guys. So that's just what I'll do. :D**

**PLEASE review, and I'd just like to thank you to the people who have reviewed and followed this story so far! Also, I have been planning out a sequel to this fic as well, so this one may have a bit of an "abrupt" (by default, since the sequel, if I write it, will be straight in the action) ending. So stay tuned for that when I eventually get round to it. Also, updates will be getting a LOT more frequent as my Summer holidays roll in on the 23rd of July. So yeah, I may even be updating daily due to a boring lifestyle and... no life, obviously. Woop!**

**That's all, folks. Enjoy the chapter!**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

"_Stop!"_ Whimsy heard for the fourth time that day. Or night. Truth be told, she wasn't even sure which one it was any more. The sun kept rising and falling with no strict pattern – sometimes it was minutes, sometimes it was hours and sometimes it was one or the other continuously. She just couldn't get her head around it any more! What was even worse was that they were running low on food by now – they would have to go out and get some more soon... all she could do was pray that Maxwell would eventually tire of his stupid game and simply revert the days back to normal, if only with slightly less time, just to satisfy his selfish sadism.

She watched as Wilson threw down a plank of wood angrily.

"Will you come and hold this torch?!" he snapped, and she flinched at his rough tone, holding her own torch close to her face. She wasn't used to him being angry and snappy at all... it was an unpleasant experience, honestly. But, as expected, he sighed sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, Whimsy. You know I don't mean to get myself all worked up and shout at you...," he murmured towards the floor, looking at her sadly. The smaller girl simply smiled a melancholy smile and nodded. She understood perfectly. His irritation wasn't exactly unreasonable.

"Sure, I'll hold it for you, Wilson." she grinned, getting to her feet, making her way over to him and accepting his torch. He nodded happily, before adjusting the way she was holding it meticulously. Then, smoothing over his W-shaped hair and taking a deep inhalation of midnight air, he forced his inner nerves to still.

"Thank you," he stated sincerely, before continuing to create "home materials". Home was a very funny word to use in this context, she felt; it was simply odd to picture anything as her home other than the house she was born and raised in, with the people she was also born and raised with. She briefly took a moment to think about her family – she wondered if her parents had even noticed she was missing. They were close, but Whimsy often stayed away whilst she was studying. She had planned to open up a little business of her own once she had the means to support herself, like her father with the photography business, but she had been yanked here before she could do so. Speaking of which, she was thinking about how Wilson had even got here. And was he curious about how she had? She couldn't tell, he hadn't even once thought to ask her, it seemed.

But it had been an ordinary day when she had been maliciously subtracted from her daily life and brought to this living nightmare; so ordinary, she was almost wishing something strange would happen, in fact. Apparently, she wished too hard.

"You seem to be in deep thought." Wilson's voice brought her out of her precarious thoughts. Who actually _cared _how she got here? There wasn't a wide variation of people to give a damn, and she certainly didn't want to think about it, and didn't expect Wilson to either. He had his own existence to juggle around with after all.

"I am," she answered carefully, straightening out her arm as Wilson gestured for her to do so. Eventually stopping his movements, he looked at her and exhaled softly.

"What has your mind so captivated?" Wilson questioned, leaning against his machine with an undeniable confidence about him. She felt odd admitting to herself that she rather liked his confidence and tried desperately to shove the thought to the back of her mind, staring past him instead of giving him eye contact.

"Nothing." she frowned.

Wilson pulled back slightly, confusion painted across his face. If he had been a piece of art, he would have gotten first place for being the most precariously balanced. He tutted.

"That's clearly both a contradiction _and _a lie..."

"I allow that." Whimsy argued languidly.

"Science does not."

"I think you need to take a step away from that machine," she deadpanned, taking his shoulders and steering him away from his creation slightly. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead, they simply stared one another down, and soon enough, she began to feel uncomfortable. "F-Fine. If I say, will you quit being so weird and actually take a _break_ from your work. You look exhausted..."

The exhaustion, he couldn't deny, but it was definitely being numbed by a warm feeling in his gut. There was no telling what his body was playing at, but it hadn't happened before; in fact, the feeling was so alien and unnecessary that he found himself shrugging it off, disturbed by the arrival of yet another problem: his apparent indecisiveness. His head was a mess of questions, but a collected mess. An organised chaos. Yet it didn't stop him from losing his mind from time to time. There were times when he had behaved as wild as the only slightly intelligent pigs of this world and there were other times when he had stooped to collecting manure and measuring it precisely. It seemed he could never quite work out where he was in Maxwell's mess of a world, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be grateful for that or not.

"I can't promise. Unfortunately enough for taking a break, Maxwell doesn't take any pity. He doesn't consider breaks," Wilson carefully chose his words, and smoothed his hair back once he finished, feeling satisfied. Even if he was a mess inside, it certainly didn't seem like it as he stood there with the cool look about him, as if he had all the time in the world to spare.

Therefore he was shocked when he was greeted only by a flat expression.

"You honestly think Maxwell considers _anything_, Wilson...?" and as if on cue, the sun rose so suddenly it blinded the scientist slightly. Shielding his eyes, he frowned solemnly. He knew that she was correct. That he couldn't keep dodging the need for some rest, no matter how enthusiastic he was about his projects and work. "Anyway," she began again, earning his attention. "I was just thinking about you...," she paused to collect her words, feeling wary. "...how you got here."

He took a moment to swallow the words; surprisingly enough, they were easy to take. Not the usual spoonful of vile medicine he was used to swallowing; people often made the poor gentleman have urges to create a contraption that could not only silence them, but delete them entirely. Stupid people's existence often worked their way into his list of irritating things that he wanted rid of... but Whimsy was surprisingly bright and peppy as far as he was concerned, and he hadn't had the urge to cover her mouth with a huge layer of duct tape even once like he had with most people. There had been moments – slight glimmers of a moment – in which he had wondered whether it would be worth having her travel with him at all, but now, he just couldn't picture doing it without her. She had wormed her way in, and it was slightly alarming to him. It seemed like she hadn't even broken a sweat, getting past his defences. And yet she didn't realise it as she complained about how useless she was, and how she couldn't get anything right. Irritating, yes, but he also noticed a sadness that even she couldn't hide.

"Well, that much is quite simple. I built a machine in order to get transported here. Well, I was instructed, if we're being technical about it," he explained loosely. The sun promptly disappeared once more and the two picked up their torches once more, holding them above their heads. "May we work and talk?"

Whimsy sighed, before handing him a piece of wood, listening to him go on about the things he had seen: the brilliant equations, the answers to life itself, all spinning around his head before giving him what seemed to be the greatest idea for an invention _ever_. How his radio had spoken to him – it had taken some convincing for Whimsy to believe he just wasn't exceptionally crazy at that moment in time – and guided him through the necessary steps to build the "world-transporting-device" as Wilson so loosely put it. How he had been frightened of his own creation and only through instruction of the screeching radio in the background did he go through with switching it on; how he wished he hadn't. The regret he expressed moved Whimsy, but the pair of them knew there was just no use being wishful. Nothing was going to change now; in fact, the only thing that seemed inter-changeable was whether they lived or died in this land of gruelling misfortune.

Whenever the sun would rise, they would implant their torches into the ground, close to where they were working, so that they could see when Maxwell decided to take it away again; slowly, they were growing accustomed to the way the light would disappear and it began to get less and less shocking as the time went on. They talked for what seemed like decades, until finally, it was time for Whimsy to explain herself.

"So, now you know my tale," Wilson looked up at her from his position on the wooden floorboards beneath his knees. "I'd be delighted to hear yours. How did you find _yourself_ here? Doesn't seem fitting, really," he finished, eyeing her and studying her slowly. Whimsy stopped weaving grass together (she was making hay walls for back up if the stone walls were ever to collapse – they were stronger than Wilson could ever make them due to the intricate motions of the grass and how tightly and precisely they were wrapped together) and peered up at him slowly. The tell-tale signs of an approaching beard scattered his face in the form of tiny lines on his chin and jaw-line, and his hair seemed bushier than normal.

"It was pretty ordinary, really. In fact, a little too ordinary," she began to recount, thinking back to the fateful day that absolutely everything had changed for her. "I had... had a fight with my mother. She of course had an issue with my line of work – saying it promoted false bearings and stupid things like that. So I stormed out. I went to my local park – I always went there when I felt sad, and needed to be alone... it often gave me ideas for sculptures too. I got an idea, and I just remember feeling so happy," she paused, feeling a sudden surge of emotion pass over her. Her entire world seemed to tighten around her as she felt herself grow a little weaker. She hoped it didn't show. She summoned her courage to stay straight-faced and continued, Wilson having long-stopped hammering any kind of wood or stone into the ground. He was simply listening, all ears, and it flattered her slightly to have his undivided attention.

"You miss it, I presume?"

"Of course I do. Anyway, I didn't want to go home so soon though – I hadn't been away from home for long and so decided to go to my father's shop. I knew it would be quiet in there, seen as though he didn't work on a Saturday and I always carried a set of keys with me anyhow, just to be safe. So I went there, and sat in the storage cupboard and planned out my amazing new sculpture. But I felt odd. Almost like... somebody was watching me and tracing every little detail, and I started to feel uneasy. So of course, I set out to leave again. But then... I heard something, and I was just too curious to leave it alone. It turned out to be a photograph. The voice sounded like... it was in my head, but, it was talking-"

"A _photograph_ was talking to you?" Wilson made her halt, his face threatening to break out in a full-blown guffaw.

"Because a radio is so much better!" she snapped back, an embarrassed set of colours rising onto her face.

"At least a radio is a form of communication." and with that, he started to laugh. Laugh at her. And she couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed. She had confessed to thinking about these things, so why was he stopping her, picking apart her story and laughing at it? His method of getting here, though much more plausible, didn't cut the bill for being "believable" to anybody who didn't understand or know about this world either... so who did he think he was to point fingers and judge stories?

"Pictures are a form of communication too...," she mumbled dejectedly. Wilson slowly stopped laughing and raised his hands in a defensive manner.

"I didn't mean any harm, Whimsy. I just find the idea so ridiculous. But you're right, a radio isn't much better by any means. Please continue. I wish to know," said the Gentleman Scientist gently, giving her a hopeful smile. The sculptor couldn't help but sigh and smile back; his hope was a beautiful thing. It was like a star on a stormy night – in fact, _any _hope in this hell-hole was the most beautiful thing to be beheld ever.

"Anyway, the photograph, yes. Talking to me, blah blah blah, telling me that once he was free, he would be able to give me infinite knowledge regarding the art of sculpting and composing pieces. So of course, I built what he instructed me too – he got annoyed with me a couple of times because I tried to be more creative than the instruction he gave me on occasion... but I eventually constructed the sculpture he requested and then... I don't remember anything else. Just a bad headache and different place." she finished. She then felt it necessary to add: "I know, it's not a very believable story, and it's really quite ridiculous, but it _is_ what happened, Wilson..."

Meanwhile, Wilson had zoned out. So again, the trend was that the people who were brought to this place _built _something. He with the delirious looking machine – the one that nobody would believe he had built. And Whimsy with the sculpture that nobody would ever think to look twice at. He recalled hearing about somebody called Willow back in the earlier days when Maxwell had been mocking him, and she, from his memory, had been instructed to build a tall pyramid of wood and then set it alight. It all seemed so surreal, and so drastically unrealistic that it made even he feel silly to recount it... and yet it was all truth. Unbelievable truth. So unbelievable, he himself thought that he was lying sometimes.

"I believe you...," he whispered weakly, thoughts collapsing on him like a ton of bricks. There just _had _to be some kind of connection. It was too much of a coincidence for them all to have built something for it not mean something. She noticed his stunned expression and felt a pang of guilt; she hadn't meant to lay thoughts on him like a thick layer of cement. She had just meant to inform him, to tell her story as requested. It seemed she had "broken" him, for lack of a better term.

Nothing else was said. Wilson simply went back to fixing the base up as the day switched between day and night, and both felt an ever-growing need for food as the day – or _days_ – passed on. Whimsy thought to ask Wilson if he had anything to offer in terms of food... but then backed off, feeling too stiff and peculiar to request anything of him. And so she worked on the hay walls, just as she had been doing at the start.

As she sat down to work again, she squeaked in pain as something sharp dug in to the bottom of her leg. Getting to her knees quickly, she patted her pockets and felt something; going in to retrieve the mystery item, she pulled out a key. Ah yes, the key she had brought up from the fishing pond when she had been collecting food. Realising the item was not alien, she relaxed. She laid it in the palm of her hand and studied it closely: it was tiny, minuscule even. And it had an eerie engraving on it, though she couldn't make it out for the life of her. It was so difficult to see anything, only aided by the gentle, quivering light of her torch. She shrugged ambiguously and put it back into her pocket; she saw no point in throwing it out as much as keeping it... so why not keep it anyway? It saved losing an item, even if that item turned out to be useless in the end.

Faintly, she heard Wilson's Science Machine give a buzz of activity, but paid it no heed. Until she felt some kind of hat on her head.

"What is this?" she questioned, as she looked up to see Wilson's hair flattened and mining hat on his head. Realisation dawned on her. She had to have the same thing on.

"I am all for working on this... base-home... place, but I am starving. So, so hungry." he frowned and he touched his hand to her head, switching the bright light of the helmet on. He blinked rapidly, shielding his eyes once more. The amount of times he had done that that very day was astounding! "Whenever the day comes, you can just switch it off to preserve energy. The button is here," he stopped and touched it, and the girl jumped as her world slipped to darkness quickly. He then turned it back on, grinning a somewhat cheeky grin.

"C'mon, let's get out there."

"Wh-What...? R-Right now?"

"Yes." he smirked coolly. "Right now."

**X x**

**Next chapter will have some dark'n'light action so stay tuned. I really wanted to clear up methods of getting to Maxwell's world before I progressed any further. So yeah. But hey, their "home" is coming along nicely! Also, Whimsy's method of getting there hosts importance now – it's why the story isn't explained _very _well; because I have a plot device coming up that involves it directly, if all goes to plan. **

**So, please review! I hope you enjoyed! :)**

**~Jess~**


	8. Put Yourself In A Mess

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that. **

**So anyhow, here I am with yet another update of The Wonders of Human Contact; I'm not feeling too good honestly. Very weak and tired, but it'll all be over with very soon. I'm dreading my upcoming English exam – because it's NOT English. It's a freaking drama practice thing... *Sigh*... there's a reason I dropped drama: because I'm scared stiff of attention... I'm TERRIFIED of huge groups of people... particularly groups that humiliate and tease me all the time... **

**But anyhow, keeping my personal problems out of my work, please review, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

Whimsy would have rather just starved to be quite honest; she had never had much of an optimistic outlook here, detested Maxwell's habits of making everything that much harder and just generally didn't think herself of much of an wilderness-whiz. Ever since meeting Wilson, however, she had lightened up, and realised his potential as a brilliant human being with equally amazing ideas. But even she knew one thing this time around:

This was _not _a good idea.

She wasn't sure which aspect told her this first to be quite honest. Perhaps it was the stumbling over Wilson's heels every two seconds in the pitch black darkness, or perhaps it was the ominous scrabbling in the distance in which implied something huge and scary was out there waiting for them. The dark hadn't been much of a threat by any means – until she had been whisked here. She couldn't understand Wilson's want to conquer it now that she thought hard about it. Couldn't he be normal in _one _aspect and flee instead of tackling every single damn thing that Maxwell threw his way? It'd sure make her life a tad easier, if it wasn't a free ride already with Wilson by her side.

"A-Are you sure about this?" she asked for the sixth time that night as she stayed incredibly close to the scientist, whom rolled his eyes passively. He wasn't sure if she was simply looking out for her (and possibly his as well) safety, or if she was simply feeling really lazy and was trying to convince him to go back. Either way, he wouldn't comply, and made a joke out of it every time despite his slightly growing irritation. She jumped as what she thought was a growl sounded in the distance and grabbed at Wilson without thought. He didn't stiffen like before, just sighed.

"It's said that people who react to loud or sudden noises with haste have a guilty conscience. What have you done?" he smirked, his miner's hat whirring brightly with life. They were no way in danger of the bulbs running out – he had powered them for far too long. She hadn't noticed of course, but he granted her things that she would simply overlook, or not think to think about.

"I'm sorry, my dear scientist," the words dripped off of her tongue like a deadly poison as she continued to speak. "I didn't realise we were taking a moral ground here. The point is, I haven't done _anything_, but it sounds like there's a raging _beast _somewhere out there, and if you're not scared of that, then _you're _the crazy one," she hissed. He scoffed incredulously and took her hand, shocking her briefly in the dark. Such a sweet notion, and yet, she was sure something more was coming.

"Perhaps you would feel better if you held my hand. It may take you back to when your _mother _fought your demons," he chided sarcastically before starting to laugh, and she threw his hand away. She knew she shouldn't have been, but she was quite upset upon the mention of her hard-working parent; of course, they had their differences, but that was normal, and that was missed. She shouldn't have been angry at him for making a joke – after all, he was without anybody except her either, and that must have gotten boring – but she felt hurt, and she could do nothing to stop it. She hung her head dejectedly and didn't speak any more, merely tagged along with him as her head-light and the sound of Wilson's gentle footsteps guided her onwards.

The sound of rustling gained her attention and she looked up suddenly. She saw a hugely fluffy-looking silhouette and gulped silently, fearing for the worst. Luckily, Wilson seemed to notice it as well and took a huge swipe at it, apparently killing whatever it was in one shot. He then went to collect whatever the thing had dropped and returned with a single egg.

"Smallbird." he grinned. "Lucky we didn't catch the parent. Goodness knows why a _baby _was carrying another one of it's kind's egg around though..." with that said, the light on his hat gave a dangerous flicker to which the scientist pulled an unimpressed face at. He mumbled something about Maxwell's faulty equipment and how unresourceful and selfish he was, before clearing his throat and turning back to Whimsy with a pleasant smile on his face. "We should keep moving. We haven't come across anything except this egg yet."

Whimsy nodded in recognition and the pair of them continued walking. As the shadows danced on the grassy earth beneath their feet, they both had different thoughts in their heads: Whimsy was thinking about a way out, while Wilson pondered other, deeper things, about Science and motions of thought. He hadn't meant to take the girl's hand earlier... it just sort of, well... happened. He didn't intentionally make any kind of 'plan' to touch her at all. It just seemed to slip out of him from time to time around her; he put it down to the fact that human, so hard and rare to come by here (aside from Maxwell who was an arrogant, deceitful bigot), he simply had to keep touching to make sure it wasn't all a figment of his imagination. And so from time to time he would touch her shoulder, and he would touch her hand, perhaps even nudge her with his foot ever so slightly while she slept or give her things to hold so that he had an excuse to apply her to something. He was fond of her, that much he couldn't deny. He didn't say it a lot at all, considering their short time knowing one another, but he honestly valued her company and thought her to be a very talented and creative person.

"U-Uh, Wilson...?" he heard and he muttered a "hm?" in question as the pair continued walking. "M-My light...," Whimsy mumbled further, earning a glance from the gentleman, who sighed.

"It's all right. Mine is working fine. We're not too far from camp, Whimsy," Wilson informed her, though he felt somewhat wary too. After all, his light had flickered rather awfully a couple of minutes back, and he feared their safety. And then he heard it. The growls. By now, Whimsy was cowering; she wasn't normally this cowardly, but the dark added a whole new atmosphere to the ever growing noises. On the contrary, she was actually rather good at fighting, and it was only a matter of time before she got into sync with the combat and performed greatly. It just took a bit of persuasion from her gut first.

Wilson peered in front of him hard, trying to catch sight of any kind of food supply. And then something touched his arm and he jumped out of his skin. A giggle sounded slightly afterwards and he immediately felt embarrassed.

"Oooh, as scary as I am Wilson, it's just me. I found some berries over here,. Y'know, right here, not a ways off," she mocked, laughing. His face fell redder and redder and he could only thank the dark for being so thick and secret-keeping. He turned to her quickly.

"I-I didn't know it was you!" he hissed quietly. This sentence, however, only made her laugh harder. Another growl silenced the pair of them and Whimsy immediately scooted closer to Wilson and his head-light warily. There was nothing like the fear in the dark of this place. Beforehand, you weren't scared of the dark, merely what was in it; here, you were scared of the dark itself, because you knew it was only a matter of time before instant death could fall upon you and get you good, and the means would be untraceable. Apprehensively, she fiddled with a strand of brown hair, a nervous habit she seemed to perform a lot. More and more noise filled the air and the two held their breath in fear.

"Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"...I'm scared..."

The words caught him off guard. He had expected another complaint, and that time he wouldn't have been _so _frustrated. But not for her to admit to fear. Slowly, softly, he stepped closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her slightly closer to him. She paused, before looking up at him; he returned her gaze with a smile.

"Don't worry. It'll all be fine."

And Whimsy felt considerably safer than she had before. She simply looked at him a while longer, before looking to the ground once more with a tiny smile coating her head-light-lit face. Her eyes lowered contemplatively as she considered what was going through Wilson's head; whether it was just a pretty lie to get her to feel better or whether it was actually going to be okay. Either way, she felt better, even if it turned out to be the former and they were soon to be in grave danger.

Suddenly, Wilson's head-light shot off and the two squeaked in terror. The dark was frightening, no, _terrifying_ as they tried to see something. Anything! Nothing was coming together, and all that could be seen was a black sheet of nothingness. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable and tight-chested, Whimsy shrunk into Wilson's side and prayed he thought nothing of it and allowed her at least his silent comfort.

Screaming slightly, Whimsy recoiled when she felt something wet touch her leg. Like a huge, gaping tongue or something along those lines. She was sure she was going to die. This was it, she was going to be finished and Maxwell would drag somebody else in here and play the game all over again. She hadn't even been able to say goodbye to anybody – her family, her couple of friends, even Wilson who was standing right beside her. Speaking of which, the Gentleman Scientist was surprisingly quiet as she writhed and jumped on the spot in undeniable fear.

It was furry. The thing that was touching her was furry, and small; she could feel alien paw-like appendages on her leg. She held back a cry, not wanting to seem weak, and she briefly noticed Wilson relax from the corner of her eye. _Why?!_

"...Chester?"

With the name spoken, the thing leapt away from Whimsy and charged to Wilson. She heard a brief opening-mouth sound, before the world was lit up by a torch. "Boy, I thought I lost you!" Wilson was cooing, as he petted and stroked this apparent "Chester" creature. He looked quite the evil thing really; harmless, but still odd and abstract enough to pass for some type of monster. After all, things like smallbirds and spiders weren't big either but they still packed quite the nasty punch and put them in danger, ever-threatening. Whimsy immediately felt flustered. She had been screaming over a _pet dog. _Splendid_. _

"It's all right, Whimsy. Chester here's a valuable companion of mine. He's no harm, in fact, if anything, this here boy's an incredible asset. Of course, he defies basic evolution, so I understand your concern, but really, Chester's no more harm than you are. You can relax." he explained. So she wasn't his only friend. While she was happy that Wilson would not be completely alone if it wasn't for her, it made her feel something deep in the recesses of her gut; a bitter pang of something she couldn't place. It was unpleasant, and slightly twisted. She decided to shovel it away. It wasn't fair.

A familiar puff of smoke suddenly came along, but Wilson was far too preoccupied with Chester to notice. He was even _laughing _as the creature jumped up at him and licked his cheek affectionately. She turned her attention to the older man, feeling rejected and desperate for somebody half-human to look her way since it seemed Wilson would not.

"Just dropping by," that same condescending sneer graced Maxwell's face as he continued to speak. "It seems you're coping quite well with my game. Especially you, Whimsy – you're staying together _very _nicely," he drawled sarcastically. She couldn't help but blush, embarrassed beyond belief; even the arrogant Maxwell could make her feel as if she was nothing but a blubbering mess. But that was his job, and there was no way she would let him accomplish it without some kind of fight.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" she spat viciously, crossing her arms and standing rigid, defences high. Maxwell raised a brow before grinning and shrugging, feigning innocence.

"Of course not. How could I do you wrong?"

"Seriously?" the sculptor deadpanned blatantly.

"No. But listen, Pal-"

"I'm not your pal." she interrupted fiercely, which made Maxwell fake a grimace.

"Ouch. You'd think you'd have learnt by now, that friends in this place are hard to come by. You should be _grateful _if anything," he frowned, though his voice was slick with sarcasm and malice. She hadn't really noticed beforehand, but the world around her seemed blurrier than usual; as if he had blocked everything else out. And that truly frightened her. The thought of being stuck in a world with him and him being _with _her in embodiment terrified her to no end. He made his way around her and she turned to face him still, not trusting him behind her at all.

"What did you come for?" she snapped, though she was the tiniest bit questioning. Maxwell usually didn't have any business interfering with her, but Wilson. Sure, he mocked her from a distance, but never like he treated the scientist. She was as curious as she was scared.

"It's within my understanding, that you came across some kind of key somewhere here," he spoke, his tone smooth and somewhat regal. He seemed to be really playing up to his master role simply by the way he was speaking; though to be expected, it still sounded a little bit odd. Whimsy fiddled with her hair yet again out of nervousness. She indeed had found the key, she knew exactly what he was talking about. In fact, at that very second, it was sat in her pocket, safe and soundly, snug as a bug. Maxwell nodded slowly, recognising her apprehensive motions instantly. "It is within your best interest to give it to me." he finished.

Immediately, she backed away from him.

"What for?" Whimsy demanded, suddenly feeling empowered. To know she possessed something that potentially threatened him made her feel slightly bigger and stronger. Meanwhile, Maxwell seemed to sigh outwardly, irritated.

"You ask too many questions, Whimsy." he shook his head. His mood seemed too passive to be real... she feared the worst. It was almost as if he was engaging in a _normal _conversation with somebody else who was normal. It wasn't right – in fact, it was severely imbalanced. "That key can take you places. Very distant places. Places even _I _haven't been. That's both dangerous, and against the rules."

"All the more reason to keep it," she retorted quickly.

"More reason to _hand it over_," he snapped, growing even more impatient as he held his gloved hand out expectantly. Oh, what to do. Slowly, she smirked and took his hand, shaking it slowly, feigning obliviousness. He peered down at their conjoined hands, legitimately confused. And then it dawned on him; she was _mocking _him. Maxwell didn't take being mocked too kindly, but before he could get a word in, Whimsy had promptly continued:

"Over my dead body."

Maxwell tightened his grip on her hand and grinned the signature crooked grin of his.

"That can be arranged," he muttered.

The eerie promise hung in the air like the last note in a funeral song. Their joined hands, as if solidifying his promise, slowly came apart as Whimsy felt the familiar fear settle in her gut. What had she just _done?_ She had just made a bet with the devil himself. Invited him in and disregarded everything else. What about her life? And what about _Wilson_? Even Chester she was now concerned for. Maxwell, looking more confident than ever (she sincerely hoped the grin he was sporting was simply to scare her), straightened out and tucked his arms behind his back.

"You've put yourself in quite the mess, haven't you?" he smirked, before disappearing once again. Blinking, she looked at the place where he had just stood and felt a heavy weight on her shoulders, a mental weight that weighed more than anything physically there on her back could have. She sighed and turned to where Wilson had been before the incident; he was still there, sitting with Chester. It was as if time had not passed at all. Except it had. The time that had passed felt like a whole day lost, but she little sense of time anyway. Even so, she found it odd that Wilson didn't even seem questioning as he looked up at her, one hand on Chester's head while another sat on his knee complacently.

He smiled genuinely at her. "I'm glad we found Chester here. I stored a whole bunch of food in him before we were separated– he actually preserved most of it quite nicely. A couple of rotten berries here and there, but the meat is still good. And it's been there a while. There's a lot of it too!" by now, he was grinning. He seemed so happy, so carefree and jolly. She forced a smile, trying to fit into his perfect picture; his perfect picture of glee.

"Well, it's a good thing then... are we going to go back home now?" she asked. The poor sculptor was tired and though their search for food had been fruitless, it had turned out well, finding Wilson's huge stock. She'd been through a lot with the misunderstanding Maxwell just now, her brain was moving a mile a minute, her thoughts hurtling even quicker. What she needed was some sleep. Some good sleep, and some good food. Promptly, she began to relax at the thought. Perhaps she could continue with the hay walls she was producing for a short period of time, just to straighten out her mind and work out ways to keep herself both sane and on the look-out for the master's notorious tricks.

"Indeed we are! This way," he instructed, before standing up, a strange looking bone in hand (which Chester seemed to respond to eagerly) and leading the way back 'home'. Still dark, Whimsy had to huddle close, and she felt safer within the warm vicinity of Wilson. He seemed all-too-happy with her being there as well.

Once back at camp, Whimsy sat beside the fire and weaved whilst Wilson cooked. Fixing up the hay was one thing that could right her mind and get everything back on track for her. It made her feel more normal, more desirable a person because she had some kind of talent and could do something that was at least somewhat productive. Unbeknownst to her, Wilson peeked up at her a couple of times whenever the meat was being slow, and simply watched her, his eyes glued to her fingers as they moved with exceptional speed and precision. He was trying to break her down to some kind of Science; he could probably understand her better if he did. But his brain just wasn't coming up with anything. It was as if his brain was denying all logical thought for once in his life, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. After all, logic was his safe-harbour, his guaranteed smart-zone. But something about disregarding the facts felt liberating, just as creating a machine or an invention made him feel. That odd, "floaty" feeling that never stayed for long enough and left far too soon, only to be discovered again a few years later, just when you'd forgotten a feeling so good existed. It was both the biggest tease and the biggest relief.

Pulling the meat from the fire, he handed the food to her on the usual platter of excellence and she accepted gratefully.

"Thanks, Wilson," the small girl said, before she began to cut her meat and eat half-heartedly. It wasn't that she wasn't hungry, but because she was on guard and thinking hard. However, if Wilson was to ask, she simply _couldn't _cave in this time. She didn't want him having to bend over backwards to protect her from the mess she had gotten herself into as well as providing nicely for her. Her pride just wouldn't accept it.

"It's no problem," he told her, sitting beside her to eat with her. When she was half way through her meal, he noticed her movements slow, as if she didn't want any more. "Don't you like it?"

"O-Of course I do! I'm just... tired, that's all," she lied, and ate another piece out of politeness, though truthfully, she was about ready to throw everything back up. He nodded slowly, as if detecting something wrong. "Aww, c-c'mon, Wilson, don't look at me like that," she chuckled nervously, nudging him slightly. "I'm fine. Really." and with that, he seemed to loosen up a little bit.

"Good. But if you weren't, you know that I would be an option," the scientist told her matter-o-factly, and it sounded more like a statement than a reassurance. A little bit robotic, as if that _was _the way things would happen and that was that. She nodded.

"Yeah... I know," she whispered, her voice suddenly giving out as she felt a strong wave of sleepiness wash over her. She stretched and then felt a hand on her face; startled, she turned to him to see him inspecting her.

"Apologies," he murmured, gaze still fixated on her. "I thought I saw something." and yet his hand remained. His glove was soft and slightly scratchy against her skin as he held her in place, though his grip was not demanding nor bossy. She wished she could pull off such ambiguity and sell the idea well like he could. His coal-black eyes flickered, as if he noticed something she didn't and she didn't dare pull away from him. Didn't particularly want to either.

She felt his loosen his grip even further.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what I'm playing at. I think I need another set of flowers." Wilson sighed before slowly dropping his hand back down to his side again. She gulped down her questions like a spoonful of vile medicine and forced her on-coming blush to remain stationary; she was _not _going to look a fool in front of him. Not this time. Not again.

Instead, she grinned what she thought was a cool grin.

"We can always find some tomorrow."

**X x**

**Sooo, done!**

**I must say, I'm normally not so bothered about my work, but I LOVED this chapter! It was so fun to write, the Maxwell/Whimsy scene was surprisingly intense for me to write, I found. I hope I captured the threatening stature of Maxwell and the conflicted thoughts and feelings of Whimsy well enough to be deemed acceptable writing though, haha.**

**Anyways, please review – I'd LOVE to hear your opinions on this chapter!**

**~Jess~**


	9. Whimsical Winters

Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!

**So anyhow, I'm here with a random piece of crap and I actually have no idea what I'm writing. Wonders of Human Contact, I think. I think so. My mind just won't come up with words today. But hey, hopefully it will be an update in some way or form. As you can probably tell, I'm now way in a good mood today, so decided to use my mood to upload something kinda more direct, etc. **

**Please review.**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

"_Nowhere left for you to run. What a shame... you were fun to chase if I'm being quite honest," Maxwell mocked as Whimsy attempted to back further into the dark, shadowy corner. The panic in her gut couldn't be matched as she scrabbled desperately, trying to find some way through the shadows as she had until that fateful moment. Meanwhile, Maxwell advanced towards her, slow and purposeful, all the while giving her a sickly sweet smile. She knew it was a joke, knew it was sarcasm, but it still turned her stomach. He was going to get her, and there was nothing she could do about it._

"_L-Leave me...," she whispered as she felt him step near her. He was quite close now, if she concentrated hard, she could feel a tiny portion of his body warmth; not wanting to seem weak, she did not edge away, nor did she try to retreat any more. This made the puppeteer smirk a devilish smirk._

"_Oh... you're not running any more? Come now, Whimsy, play the game. Run," he ordered. She looked behind her slightly, only to find nowhere to go; was that the whole point of telling her to in the first place? So that the crushing reality could constrict her like a wire around her neck? She felt a sudden lack of air enter her lungs as she began gasping for breath; it was only then that she felt something holding her back. A hand. A dark hand. And now it was wrapping around her neck, pushing tighter and tighter, until her pale face was drained of any colour at all. Her lower body slowly stopped struggling and fell limp, her vision swimming dangerously._

"_Let... go...!" she choked out, and the grip loosened briefly, allowing some air to get into her lungs. Whimsy was terrified as Maxwell actually touched her, his long fingers skimming the side of her face ominously. Anybody else, and it would be such a sweet, genuine gesture, but this was a notion full of terror, full of heartache and above all, full of lies. She flinched away, and he paused, his fingers still where her face would have been if she hadn't have moved._

"_See what happens when you don't cooperate with me?" he asked her, basking in triumph as she let out a frightened groan of resistance, too weak to say anything else. As her breathing pattern steadied once more, she peered up at him and did her best to force out a chuckle. He responded as promised: in confusion._

"_All this... over one, tiny key," she stated, a sweet overtone to her sentence as she looked up at him. She watched as his face turned darker, a deep, angry frown beginning to form on his face. "And yet look at you. You're still empty handed. Still no key. See how great I am? The otherwise great Maxwell can't have the one thing he wants. How tragic," she spat sarcastically, struggling against the shadow hands' grips as they began to wrap around her arms and legs, holding her completely trapped, forced into instilment. Maxwell was angry, no doubt, in fact, perhaps enraged would have been a better word... and yet a bitter laugh still forced it's way past his lips._

"_Yes, well," he paused, smirking a disgustingly evil smirk. "We'll see how __great__ you__ are when I am through with you."_

_And that was when she felt the choking sensation all over again, the lack of breath, she couldn't fight through it, she was losing consciousness. All the while, several cackles of cruel mockery could be heard, and she couldn't tell if she had gone insane, or if Maxwell and his shadow cronies were all heaving with laughter. Either way, she was passing out... there was no doubt she'd be dead soon... no doubt.._

Shooting awake, Whimsy panicked. There was a certain race in her heart that she had never felt before, and it was all out of fear. A couple of weeks had passed since she had last seen Maxwell and it was certainly playing on her mind; he could have been plotting anything whilst she worried about his next appearance. The ultimately awful thing was that she couldn't stop herself from worrying; she felt as if she was _obligated _to worry. Slowly, she rolled onto her side and looked at Wilson, who was still sound asleep. He pertained an air of peacefulness whenever he slept. The bags under his eyes didn't look so dark and the soft intakes of breath that made his chest rise and fall in a smooth, soothing rhythm made her relax. Because he was relaxed.

Softly, Whimsy exhaled and smiled slightly. She'd never tell, but she shifted slightly closer to the Gentleman Scientist, feeling much safer as she did so. But she couldn't find it in her to sleep. It felt off trying to and so she slowly got up and scratched her head, waking up promptly. Was Maxwell "visiting" her by night? It seemed to be the only explanation to having such vivid, violent and frankly, odd, dreams. She was disturbed regarding what her mind could come up with, and so decided it was not even her mind in the first place and the crook Maxwell had something or other to do with it.

Now stood up, she took a look at the dying fire. There were no worries though, it'd be day soon. Since the last week of so, the days had settled back to normal, just with less time, so at least they now had some kind of schedule. Whimsy took a second to look proud as she eyed their oncoming 'home' with glee: the tent, standing tall and proud in the bitter breeze, the crock pots that bubbled with low activity and the homely floorboards that restored some kind of home-like vibe. Chester lay in the corner, soft grass padding him as Whimsy had pitied him with nothing but his fur coat to keep him warm. She could only guess Winter was coming, it certainly felt a lot colder than it did when they had first met. What a day. And the time that had passed was marvellous; she found herself growing closer to him. Getting fonder of him. And it made her extremely happy to think he was feeling the same way, as he seemed to brighten up whenever she returned from a task or to come in for the night.

New day full of promise (and hardship, no doubt), she stuck a foot out into the open, only to retract it quickly.

"That's odd...," she murmured, testing her foot against the frozen ground once more. And then she recoiled in horror. _Winter_. Cold... but it wasn't supposed to be there yet! Though the breeze had been bitter the day before, it had still been sunny and a delight to walk through the forest; now trees looked barren and little supply seemed to be around, all the bushes frozen over and the saplings iced over with frost. The layer of snow was not thick by any means, but perhaps that was the worst part: it was slippy and dangerous as well as being lethally cold.

She heard some disturbance behind her and turned her head to see Wilson sitting up from his position in the tent, his hair frazzled with sleep as he combed his hands through it with a tired sigh.

"Oh, good morning, Whimsy. I didn't think you'd be awake already," he said bashfully, his voice still slick with sleepiness. He forced himself to stand up, but no sooner had he done so did he retract his foot, similarly to how she had previously.

He frowned. "Oh dear."

The worried expression that coated his face didn't seem too positive and so she saw it as fit to look worried herself. He seemed to turn to Chester, then back again, as if there was something he had stored, but then realised it was no longer there. Then, as if refuting her previous thought, he went over to him, opened his gaping mouth and pulled out a spear. The tip of it gleamed in the light as it bounced off of the snow and towards them.

"What are you doing with that?" she questioned, beginning to feel the cold get to her arms as she began to rub them in the hopes of warming up once more.

"We are going to have to hunt some Beefalo." he told her matter-o-factly. She frowned; she'd heard about those from Wilson earlier on and they did not sound friendly when charging, especially with their legs of steel and their large groups that could chase for days and days without tiring out. Though their fur was thick and would certainly make decent winter-wear, she didn't think she could personally outrun a stampede of blubbering, angry creatures charging her way. Wilson seemed to chuckle at her face as she thought through the current situation, an air of terror about her. "Don't worry so much," he commented, smirking somewhat cockily. "It's not so difficult. The key is to get them from a hoard, to a singular attacker. Then, because they are so big, it is easy to be quicker and take them down."

He looked so confident, and yet it couldn't wager for her insecurities. She picked up her pick-axe gingerly and clenched the handle until her knuckles were white.

"Okay...," she mumbled, following his shadow across the snow as they began to search for some unfortunate creatures to poach.

**X x**

"I told you they were rather easy to track. We have two down and enough of their fur to make some kind of warm clothing. But I'd like another batch, for something else."

"What is that 'something else'...?" Whimsy quizzed, looking up at him. At her query, Wilson's face turned the slightest bit sheepish.

"I was hoping you would... maybe... make some kind of blanket out of the fur. You can do it better than I ever could – stronger, and more durable, and you seem to need less material as well – so I was hoping you could make these, actually. The clothing too, if that's not too much trouble..." he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward and slightly misplaced. He felt odd asking Whimsy for any kind of favour, particularly as he was out of his element of usefulness. But she could make something decent, something patch-work-perfect. If she could make a beautiful bracelet out of a couple of flowers, no doubt she could make a few articles of clothing out of a large quantity of fur, rope, twigs and grass. Meanwhile, he would scavenge; gather food for Winter.

"Well," she smiled. "That's no issue. In fact, I could do that in my sleep." she boasted confidently, a proud expression smearing across her face. Seemingly enjoying the confidence, Wilson allowed a complacent smile to grace his face, nodding to himself secretively. He wouldn't breathe a word of it for now, but seeing her so in-tune with challenges and tasks made him feel better.

"Very well then. I'm glad it's no issue." and with that, the scientist picked up his spear and pointed to a lone Beefalo discreetly; Whimsy, following the direction of it, nodded and clutched her axe tightly in recognition. Honestly, she felt quite awful slaughtering the poor things, and the only thing that actually made her go through with it was the fact that they were Maxwell's and it was likely to have some kind of impact on him, no matter how small. She wanted him in pain, to experience torture such as they were as they pulled through day after day after day of struggle. By seeing his creations die, she felt satisfied, knowing a tiny fraction of him had died as well, and so she kept strong, held her head high and finished the job with a gluttonous swing of her axe, whilst Wilson harvested the 'winnings' together like prized possessions.

Stealthily, they charged along, keeping close to the tall, yet frozen-over grass, the powdery snow doing a good job at keeping them hidden. Without another word, Whimsy dashed ahead and, swallowing her minute hesitation, struck the monster hard enough to leave a sharp-looking wound in its leg. It would not be able to run efficiently if she could do sufficient damage to at least its two back legs, and as she stabbed the second back leg, a feeling of relief washed over her. There was no way at all it could run to it's comrades for help now, it was beyond any kind of aid. It just lay there, whining and moaning in pain. Part of her wished she could simply "shave" it, without having to make any indents on the creature at all, but she knew that wasn't possible.

Wilson came out of the bushes and made quick work of the pained 'animal', a cascade of meat, fur and tusks falling to the ground. It almost felt like looting, and looting was so wrong... but it kept them alive, and it wasn't a case of being ashamed or not, but surviving. Surely the world made an exception for the desperate.

"You did very well," Wilson praised, breathing somewhat heavily. It seemed he liked killing things as little as she did. She always noticed his face go paler after muggings and technical-murders (aside from spiders, then there was only glee) as a sickly sensation seemed to wash over his entire being. He would slouch, he would lower his weapon and he would stare at the ground, as if apologising for a sin. "And now we have more than enough for the things we need. I'm glad it was quick work, actually. It's very cold out here now." he shivered and then caught sight of Whimsy. She hadn't noticed, but her arms, frigid and stiff, were slowly turning a pale shade of blue. There were dottings of snow in her hair, her shoe soles encrusted with snowflakes that shone like diamonds even from beneath her feet. She was the picture of frozen. Swiftly, and without thinking, he yanked his vest off and eased it over her head. The air was bitter, but it was nothing compared to the cold horror that had settled in his gut. Whimsy looked terrible... in the sense that she was not going to make it. He wished the blanket was already constructed, but it had yet to be made. "Let's hurry back...," he trailed, an icy feeling brushing his conscience dubiously.

**X x**

Back at the camp, Wilson had set her straight to construction. She had complied with no complaint, hadn't even commented on how cold she looked (he presumed she felt cold even if she wasn't admitting it – how could she not?) and had even tried to offer him his vest back as he shivered semi-violently in the snow. Meanwhile, he set up a fire and sat near it, allowing the flames to lick at his hands and Chester to sit on his knee, his personal patch of warmth. The wooden floorboards beneath his feet made him feel more secure, though he couldn't help but worry about the fire sitting on top of it. He surely hoped their place would not be ruined by something as petty as a 'house-fire', particularly not now when wood was scarce as the trees had all shrivelled into nothing but pine-cone-generating posses.

He watched her work dutifully. There was something about the way she crafted without fail that lured him in to continue watching, even though he felt he had stared quite enough. Her lightning-quick reflexes as she stuck and tied and wove enthralled him; not even his Science Machine could produce work so beautiful, and that was saying something! Her hands, he decided, were magical little things. Something to be treasured. And how blue they had looked earlier had frightened him to no end.

Suddenly, he was pulled out of his stupor to the feeling of something fuzzy on his knee. His head turned down to look at it: a fluffy coat. Unlike the usual fuzzy vest that he could make, she had added sleeves with no extra materials. It was a wonder how she did this.

"Very nice...," he breathed, though in reality, he had so much more to say. _"Where did you learn such a fine talent? Would you perhaps share it with me? Teach me how to do it as well as you? Oh, please, if it's not too much trouble... I like when you craft things, you look happy, and that in turn makes me happy." _and the list went on and on. "Thank you very much." he added, shrugging the material over his shoulders. A perfect fit. And extremely warm and cosy too.

"Ah, ah, ah," she tutted, handing him his vest and looking at him expectantly.

"Oh," he chuckled. "Of course." and as he took the coat off, she giggled playfully and put the clothing back over his head. He took it from her and eased it on properly, quickly putting the coat back on over the top of it. She tapped his shoulders.

"Looking good," she joked, nudging him.

"Hilarious." he smirked. "Let's see yours then."

Her face brightened momentarily as she ran back to the small stump (they had temporarily place a tree stump in their "base", which served as some kind of table – this however, was only until they had the means to make a better one.) and came back to him minutes later. She was wearing a fluffy coat, much like his, but a tad longer, so that it covered the backs of her legs. The edges were fluffed with fur and there was a small hood at the back that hung there dutifully, waiting to be pulled up. He stood up in awe, inspecting her handiwork.

"H-How...?" he mumbled, touching the fabric. Surely enough, it was thick and warm. She was a mystery, a well and true mystery.

"And don't worry, the blanket is made already. This was all excess fur... I hope you don't mind," she trailed, a small blush making it's way onto her face as she fiddled with a strand of hair. She didn't want to feel as if she was wasting materials, but the fur-coated edges on her coat was just too good to pass up. She then seemed to remember something as she exclaimed "Oh!" in excitement, darting back yet again. She returned with some leathery-looking boots. His shock was uncanny.

"Explain...," he muttered, barely audible as he took in the sight of her production. He knew he was getting all worked up for nothing, really; after all, they were just clothes, and he could have made something himself, just not nearly as good. But still, it would have kept him alive, which was the main intention.

"Well, remember the leather I kept from the frog I killed back when you told me to go fishing? There was enough to craft the soles for some boots, as well as some left over fur and sticks after I made the coats, so I thought it'd be a good idea, especially with all the uneven turf an-" but before she could finish, Wilson had spontaneously lurched forwards and grabbed her, hugging her in glee. She stiffened, a real set of colour resting on her cheeks as she softly returned his grip.

"What you've produced is amazing," he breathed, positive notion hanging on his every word. He was so bewildered and yet, so amazed, and for once, it wasn't because of Science. "And I can't thank you enough, Whimsy. But thank you. I first thought sculpting was so one-dimensional, but now I see it covers a wide range of construction, and said construction has been very useful. I doubt you realise how much so." he finished. He _was _truthfully questioning his motives to even make contact with her in the first place, but steadied his train of thought to innocence as he continued to grip her. He wasn't quite ready to let go of her. Not quite yet. There was some kind of rush he was gaining through being so close to her, and it made him feel happy and as if everything was going to be fine.

"Th-That's okay. Really." she grinned, as she slowly felt his arms come away from her. Inwardly, she couldn't help but fight off disappointment; his grip had been so warm, so comfortable, and felt so cosy, she could have positively stayed there a while longer. Without another word, he took the boots from her and slipped out of his common shoes (they were stood in their base, so his feet made contact with the wood and not the snow) and into his boots. He already felt better.

"They seem strong." he stated as he tested them out, walking around a little bit. There was a certain scratchy feeling at the back of his heels, but he didn't pay it much heed. It had to be positively painful to get the twigs to form the right shapes to build around (he presumed that's how she did it, though honestly, he wasn't sure). He turned to see Whimsy heading towards the tent once more.

"I hate to bail on you, Wilson, but sculpting really takes the life out of me. I'm pretty tired now..." she stretched to emphasise her point, only for him to nod in understanding as a smile slowly sneaking onto his face. She nodded to him, before asking: "Are you sure we have enough firewood?"

He nodded. "Not an issue. Are you sure you don't want to stay for something to eat before you rest?"

"No, thanks. I'm good, just sleepy." and with that, she disappeared into the tent. He found himself feeling slightly disappointed due to the fact that he'd be dining alone, but it wasn't such a big deal. She had worked hard and it was only natural that she would be wanting some sleep by now, or even a lay down would suffice. He sighed outwardly, a warm feeling coursing throughout his veins and chest. And it felt good. Really good. His smile did not fade as he fondly fiddled with his coat sleeve.

"Just what are you doing to me...?"

**X x**

**And done!**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it. I know this chapter was a little Whimsy-showcase, but honestly, I haven't given her talents much of a role yet except for the humourous scene with the bracelet with the dark petals. I was hoping to show it off a bit more, without giving you guys some kind of bad idea about her being "over-skilled" or anything, so I picked something USEFUL for her to craft, such as Winter things to survive the harsh conditions. **

**Also, yes, in case you're wondering, in my OC development for Whimsy (I have art of her and notes and everything), one of her perks is that she can create the same things as any of the DS characters, but she needs less materials to do so.**

**Anyways, please review~!**

**~Jess~**


	10. Don't Play The Scientist

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that.**

**So yeah, I'm here with chapter 10 of The Wonders of Human Contact, and I hope you enjoy it. Also, this story is bound to come to some kind of "abrupt" ending, but that's because the sequel continues the story almost immediately; just that this story would be too long for me to maintain if it was one thing. Plus, in the sequel, more characters will be coming in (or so I'm planning) and so it just seems more logical for me to split it. Also, the sequel takes place elsewhere in the Don't Starve universe too, so again, it gets "original" from there on out. **

**Also, this is a filler-ish chapter, but it needed to happen since anxiety has been building up in Wilson due to Whimsy being secretive about her stress and her nightmares. Also, it initiates the next part of the plot, which will (hopefully) be action-packed, which then leads to the sequel, haha. **

**Anyhow, please review.**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

Chester hurtled through the snow, tongue sticking out and little rubber legs propelling him forwards with astonishing speed. Further behind, Whimsy struggled to keep up, swinging a twig around provocatively, trying to get the 'pet' to come back. As Wilson cooked meat slowly from the inner stone walls of their camp, he raised his head and watched, a fond smile on his face; true joy was something he hadn't felt in so long, and yet he felt it course through his veins as he watched the two things that kept him human and happy bonding like no tomorrow. The snow was a quintessential shade of white, even with the constant trudging through it.

Whimsy, eventually catching up to the rushing creature, pounced and landed them both in a pile of snow. The pet's head popped up, then hers, and they both began to laugh as snow fell from their heads like a soft downpour of rain. Actually, rain would have been kinder; this harsh climate certainly was ruining any positivity Wilson had had beforehand. It was so hard to find stock and supply in these conditions... but he didn't want to scare the other two – particularly Whimsy. It seemed Chester could cope, he didn't seem to eat at all, just store things... but Whimsy, Whimsy was like him: she needed food to survive. He certainly didn't want to instil fear within her.

"Hmm...," he hummed as he turned the meat over meticulously, watching the colour darken as the supply was fuelled with heat. Those days, Wilson had thought more than he had spoken, and it was because his mind was heavy with question. Questions, whether he liked to admit it or not, about Whimsy. He peeked up once more, and caught sight of the pair of them piling snow up ridiculously, the girl snorting with laughter whilst Chester drooled excitedly all over the place. Wilson shook his head, the smile still engraved into his pale face.

"_Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I still thinking about this...? I should be concentrating on Maxwell and his next troublesome scheme... not her and the way her pretty coat trails behind her. I should be thinking about Science and my inventions to keep us alive... not the way she laughs and smiles all the time. I should be pondering about how to get out of here, how to get us out of here... not as to whether I will get another excuse to embrace her like when she made these beautiful clothes. What is wrong with me? Is there even anything wrong, per say? I am a scientist... yet I can't figure out my own mind. Brilliant. Wilson, you're a real genius. Stop this, you're hindering your brilliant capabilities..." _he sighed, trying to bring his ever-alive mind to a stand-still. Sometimes, the poor man wished he was like everybody else. That he didn't possess such a keen hankering for knowledge, or an ambitious way of thinking; that he didn't crave to experiment with everything, or to uncover long-lost secrets that delved deeper back into history than any human mind could; that he didn't know any better at all. It seemed much more peaceful a life to simply be oblivious. To not care. To not want to know. And yet there he was, with secret knowledge in his head and his heart on a standstill as his mind took over.

"Hey, Wilson!" he heard and he immediately turned his head towards the sound. What he saw humoured him: a snow replica of him (to some degree, it's hair wasn't nearly fabulous enough) with a somewhat dopey smile. He noticed Whimsy stood behind it, holding sticks, which were presumably its arms.

"What on earth...?" he grinned, unable to stop himself. Whimsy cleared her throat.

"Hey, I'm Wilson and I'm really outrageously clever. Science, science, science," she chanted, waving the sticks around like over-excited arms. Normally, he didn't appreciate mocking to any degree... but he spluttered with laughter; the impression was terrible! Strangely, however, it was fitting too. Perhaps it was the dialogue that did it for him. Briefly, he noticed her slouch slightly; she seemed terribly tired...

He soon stopped laughing, though still he sported the smile on his face. "Now you're being ridiculous."

"If anything, you _need _ridiculous. You need me to have fun," she taunted in return, still waving the sticks around half-heartedly, earning Chester's attention as he turned his head upwards to spectate. The sentence hit him hard. Nowadays, it really _did _feel like he needed her. Even so, he tutted, taking the meat from the crock-pot and putting it onto two squares of wood; she bounded over immediately, accepting a plate graciously. The little sculptor sat beside the burning fire, accepting a fork as Wilson handed her one.

"Please try to eat better today?" he quizzed, sitting next to her. In turn, Whimsy hung her head. She knew exactly what he meant: she hadn't been eating well at all over the past couple of weeks. When Maxwell left after their last encounter, actually; the terrible nightmares had taken over her sleep, and she couldn't evade them; she had tried everything: a warm drink before bed, burrowing under the beefalo-blanket, she had even made Wilson come along with her so that she could clean her hair before bed, – he held the torch as it went from dusk to night – convinced that, if she could clean her head, she could clean her mind too. But nothing was working. Maxwell was spoon-feeding her horror, and there was nothing she could do to keep her mind from ingesting it gluttonously, using the remains of the thoughts to produce terrifying nightmares.

The nightmares were horrific figments of her imagination – or his imagination. Maxwell's imagination was very broad indeed, and did not hold limitations; she had seen horrid things in the form of slippery shadows and angry monsters and nothing ever was pleasant. She had witnessed brutal killings in her head, bloody messes and disgusting slaughters, the cackles of anonymous nay-sayers and evil utterances of hatred. He had even used her parents, the devilish fiend; made them express how disappointed they were, and that they could no longer cope with her disobedience to work within the family business and were therefore getting rid of her. For good. It was truly horrific. And it was not strange to say her appetite had gone away over the past few days because of it.

"I-I'll try...," she mumbled, putting bite-size pieces into her mouth as she chewed thoughtfully. Her vision was swimming in front of her slightly. Seeing two of everything had become normal. The only reason she'd been running earlier was to keep a brave face; she didn't want Wilson to catch on, though he already had by the looks of things. She didn't want to worry him. Besides, she could deal with Maxwell on her own, or so she kept saying to herself. The problem was, each meal was becoming a gruelling challenge and the lack of sleep made her feel woozy and sick.

Her deep thought was interrupted by Wilson suddenly putting his plate down firmly. She turned her head to see him frowning, staring straight ahead of him, looking at nothing.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked. His voice was free of anything – remorse, anger, question, it was just a simple ring-tone of what she used to know. There was so much the matter with her... and yet she felt obligated to keep quiet and struggle on herself. She forced out a nervous chuckle.

"Nothing!" she replied brightly. It was so tiring putting all that effort into keeping perky... so tiring...

He didn't react. He didn't claim anything. He didn't make a sound for a moment, as he simply stared at the snow, cold eyes out-matching the ice like school children against university graduates. He sighed a long, drawn-out sigh.

"Stop," the scientist said monotonously.

"S-Stop?"

"Stop lying to me."

His head slowly turned up to look at her. His face was in no way a picture of hurt, nor anger, just blank with a lack of emotion. Or so it seemed. Inwardly, he was yelling, screaming even. Why didn't she trust him with her issues? Or why was she too proud to confess she had them? This needed to stop... it was driving him insane. What was he doing wrong? What was stopping her from confessing her problems to him?

"...lying?"

This was it. This was the final straw. He couldn't take any more. Those past two weeks, she had kept so much from him, and he had been stupid and let it slide; he should have pressed it. Should have pressed the issue before she had time to build up her façades and her brave face.

"Yes, _lying_," he hissed at her, shooting up into a standing position angrily. "Stop lying! Stop saying you're fine! That nothing's wrong! Just stop doing it, Whimsy!" he cried, and she stared up at him, unable to speak at all. She never expected him to shout at her, to yell at her, not even raise his voice. And not because she wouldn't allow it, but because he had never before in the past, even when he technically had reason to. The last time he had snapped at her was when Maxwell was fiddling with the day-and-night scheme and he had demanded she hold his torch, and that had been a while ago. "I am up to my neck in worry and it's not doing me any good to hear you shrug off my help. Don't you want it? Would you _rather_ stay upset? Angry?!" he continued and she felt her insides cower away and hide. He was extremely intimidating right then, with his tall posture (even slouching slightly as he bent towards her) and his fisted hands; he would never _ever _use them, but it still painted a rather unpleasant picture in her mind.

"Wilson, I-"

"_Hush_!" he ordered and she instantly stopped talking; she didn't even try to compete. The anger and hurt was slowly beginning to show itself, and not just in his tone, but on his face as well. His darkened eyes were narrow with irritation, his usual gentleman physique long-gone. For now, he merely represented an angry, bitter, typical man. "Don't take me for a fool, I've known since day _one_ that something has been wrong. Am I not trustworthy? Do you not _trust _me?" Wilson heaved, still going strong. He simply wanted to release all of the hurt, and all of the pain and all of the strain in not being able to help her. He ached with a passion to aid her, just as he assumed she did too, bringing supplies back and making him laugh all to keep him that little bit more sane and stable.

"Of course I trust you...," she whispered, head drooping to face the snow-littered ground.

"Really? It doesn't seem so," by now, his voice had reduced to an irritated snip. He had quenched his thirst for yelling, at least, but his stomach still felt twisted with need for resolve. It was driving him mad to have the issue incomplete. He suddenly growled, frustrated. "Why won't you let me help you? _Why?_ I have been asking and asking and asking... and you keep saying you're fine. You're not fooling me, nobody fools me."

"I-I just thought that-"

"Whatever you thought, you were _wrong_." Wilson frowned. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before he started shouting again. He was through being so rash. He didn't want to make any more uninformed choices regarding his responses to her from here on out. With effort, he softened. "I care about you." he paused. "A lot. And it is hurting me to see you in such a state. Do you remember by the fire, when I took your face in my hand and examined you? It was all because I saw you hurt. You were- no, you _are_ – hurting, Whimsy. I don't know what's happened to you, but these two weeks, you have been distant. I hate to think I'm losing you in some way," he finished.

Meanwhile, the girl sat stiffly, thinking over her options. She didn't really have any... but there were two obvious ones. And each with terrifyingly solid results: she could confess her problems, open up to him, be honest about Maxwell and the key and the nightmares, and have him worry about her. Or, she could keep on refusing to tell him, and most likely lose his company. It seemed dramatic... but she knew Wilson by now; he never shouted, he was never nasty, he was never cruel... but when he did any of those things, you knew you were in for it. She sighed; she knew that losing him was not an option, how could she have even been so selfish as to think that there was an option in the first place? He deserved to know.

As she made a move to speak, he seemed to look up expectantly.

"I..." she began, but she didn't know what to say first. What to say at all, in fact. "Maxwell talked to me two weeks ago."

The shock on the gentleman's face was predictable to her, but it still didn't cover what she was expecting. She expected him to at least get mad over her not telling him, but nothing about him looked the slightest bit angry.

"When I was fishing... ages ago... I brought fish and frog back. But I also found this," and with that, she went into her back pocket and pulled out the tiny key. Immediately, the scientist reached out for it, touching it gently and bringing it near to his face as he inspected it closely. "And Maxwell wants it. He said it can 'take us to places even he hasn't been'. And I kept it, because I think it threatens him. Who knows, it could be our ticket out of here..."

"I must say, I don't recognise it," mumbled Wilson as he took a long look at the key's jagged indents and the moon-shaped hole in the base of it. His mind reeled somewhat excitedly; this could take him _anywhere._ Whimsy was correct, it _could _be there ticket out of there. "When was this?" he saw as fit to ask.

"When we – or you – were reunited with Chester. It was that same night we travelled by head-lights on our miner's hats." she answered, recollecting the events perfectly. He nodded immediately in understanding; he obviously remembered.

"Ah yes." he nodded.

"But since I refused to give it to him," she continued once more, earning the scientist's attention in less than a moment. "He has been 'attacking' me. Kind of. With... with nightmares. _Bad _nightmares... they are really bad, Wilson..." Even though she knew the dripping truth to this statement, she still felt silly, complaining about _nightmares_. Of all the things she was being kept awake by, it was nightmares, which a seven year old complained about. The difference was that a seven year old could get away with being frightened; in her shoes, it simply sounded juvenile and stupid.

To her surprise, he merely nodded. "I can understand. It explains why you are so tired, and why you tried to skip sleeping on several occasions. I can't determine how bad they truly are, but I have a fairly good idea based on how you tried to avoid having them. I don't think you'd have put nearly as much effort in to sleep well if they aren't as bad as you say they are." he explained gently, moving slightly closer to her. His mind, now knowing what her problem was, relaxed briefly. True, there was still the problem to actually _tackle_, but he now knew _how _to do that.

"I didn't want to say anything because... I didn't want to worry you." she fiddled with her hands nervously and awaited his reaction. He didn't say anything, merely looked at her. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he definitely had a considerate air about him. "You already work so hard, Wilson. I didn't want to add to that... plus, I was convinced I could handle it on my own." she added quickly, thinking on her feet. She at least wanted her case to sound reasonable; the last thing she wanted was for him to recoil at the fact that he could have helped her quite simply and yet she wouldn't allow him to. Her issue was not simple, not in the slightest, and she didn't want him to misjudge her lack of a plea for help.

"You should have said something...," he trailed, picking up his head. Whimsy nodded slowly, shame carved into her face as she hung her head, staring at her lap with a hard, fixated gaze.

"I know, and I'm sorry. Really sorry..."

"It's fine, now I know. I think I may be able to assist you." he said with a soft smile. He stood up, offering her a hand, and she took it without question. She didn't even know where they were headed, she just knew she was so glad to see it there in front of her in that tense moment of confession and confrontation. She stood up when she felt him walking, only to keep up with him. Wherever they were going, he had a clear idea.

**X x**

Settling down in the tent, Whimsy shifted uncomfortably.

"Wilson, they'll come for me again... please don't make me try to sleep."

"I am going to," he replied, fiddling with the thick blanket. "But not alone." he finished, and she could only watch, dumbfounded, as he began to shift the interior of the tent. It was a tiny space anyway – barely big enough for the both of them – and yet he organised quite well. Her mind wasn't adding anything together, and so it was a shock when she suddenly realised that their grassy pillows (stuck together by a mixture of honey and mud) were side by side. "Come." she heard him say, and she turned her gaze upwards to see him laying on his side, patting the space next to him.

"No." she said as she she realised what was going on. "Wilson, I can't."

He frowned. "Of course you can." and he patted the space again, this time more vigorously. This didn't seem in-character of him, inviting her to bed... not at all, and yet, the gesture was so undeniably sweet that she couldn't see herself refusing, even if she put up a little bit of a fight first. She already understood he was doing this for the good of her, and not what people often led others to bed for, but the thought, ever-present (how could it _not_ be?), made her slightly uneasy, a light blush on her face. Slowly, she shifted to the space he was touching, before leaning on her side there, facing away from him. She wasn't laying down yet, she just couldn't, she was much too unrelieved.

"O-Oh, shouldn't we find more supplies first?" she excused, trying to get back up, only for Wilson to touch a hand to her arm, shaking his head.

"We have plenty. Relax."

And so she did as she was told. She hesitantly laid back against the floor of the tent next to the clever young man. He fumbled with the blanket, pulling it over the pair of them slowly. As she felt the warmth caress her body, she already began to feel sleep wash over her; she was most definitely deprived, the rate at which it arrived was almost instant. It wasn't normal at all. She could already hear the unpleasant wails, like a ring in her ears that would forever be there and the fear began to settle in her gut.

"Huh?" she asked as she heard the sounds suddenly drown out, the shadows behind her eyelids retreating as something tough wrapped around her waist. Even though she was rigid, she could feel what it was now: Wilson's arm. She instantly felt her face going red, and she had no clue why. There was no damn implication! There was no intention! Even so, she found herself squirming.

"Don't do that, please." she heard his sleep-slick voice and quickly stopped, doing as she was told. Something about it stirred something within her; it was low... somewhat husky if she concentrated hard and allowed her imagination to stretch a little bit. The sound was a pleasant experience, one she wished to have again, even on such short notice. As if her wish had been served, Wilson soon spoke again in the same tone as before. "Please just relax..."

So she allowed the tension out of her body as she relaxed with his arm around her.

"Why are you doing this?" she squeaked, and she was glad she was facing away from him as a firm blush formed on her face. Coming to terms with herself, she enjoyed his grip a lot... and even if the notion was out of character for him, it was the gentle intention that made her smile. She already knew why he was doing this... she had asked merely to hear him speak more. While ever he did, the bad went away for a while.

"It makes sense to me that you would sleep better if there was somebody here to make sure your nightmares didn't get too bad. I can wake you if they do; then you can sleep again, and we can repeat this process until you've gained enough rest."

"You're too kind to me..."

"I am just kind enough," he whispered, closing his eyes. She'd never tell, but she snuck closer to the Gentleman Scientist, basking in his warmth. She wasn't quite brave enough to turn and face him... but she didn't need to. She was perfectly comfortable as she was. Her eyes closed slowly, and though the chanting was still faintly emanating in the background of her mind, she managed to ignore it for the most part; she was more interested in the tender warmth around her waist and his body warmth burning against her back. He was so hot, she probably could have felt his body heat a little ways off. And yet this seemed normal as she felt his peaceful breathing against her back as his chest rose and fell in an almost-silent pattern. Whimsy smiled to herself. This was very comforting... perhaps she could give it a go.

"_All right, try as you might, you won't terrorize me this time. Come get me, Maxxy. I'm prepared for you._" was her last thought before she slowly drifted off to sleep.

**X x**

**Okay, so, YES, there ARE reasons for this chapter:**

**1) I needed Wilson's stress with Whimsy out of not being able to assist her when she was obviously suffering, to come out, and having him have his angry outburst was just perfect for that. He may have seemed like he changed moods a lot, but I can imagine Wilson being very apologetic (inwardly), even if the person he's mad at deserves to be yelled at; I doubt his maturity and smarts would allow him to stay simmering for long, and so that's why, in this chapter, he calmed fairly quickly after having his minute of heat or so. **

**2) I needed Whimsy's nightmare thing explained. I needed readers to know just how bad they were; there was an example in the previous chapter to this one, but it wasn't nearly as violent as the ones she is experiencing on a regular basis; because this story is T rated, I am not going into them, so nobody needs to get squeamish, or whatever. But still, I really wanted to emphasise just how terrible they were, and how twisted Maxwell could be when taunted and pushed. Also, it kind of shows build up in how bad they are now to how bad they were before; over the course of the two weeks, they had progressed, and since I didn't show those two weeks – there was just a time jump as stated in the previous chapter – it at least covered why she was having nightmares in the first place.**

**3) I had to somehow move the pair along a little bit; it's no good me claiming Wilson/OC if nothing between them HAPPENS. As explained in the chapter, the reason he invited her to bed was not particularly romantic, but it did express his care for her rather well, or so I believe; I also expressed that Whimsy was aware he was merely looking out for her... so nobody should get pissy with it. I imagine Wilson to be mature enough to deal with it, and to explain himself well as well, whereas Whimsy would get flustered, but would still understand fairly well, given the circumstances.**

**Anyhow, please review, and I'm sorry for quite the tedious chapter; it will pick up again. **

**~Jess~**


	11. Hunt Or Be Hunted

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that. **

**So anyhow, this is the next chapter to "The Wonders of Human Contact" and I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Also, some review response here, since they were anonymous and I could not reply via PM. **

**Anon: I'm glad the story is working nicely for you; there will be plenty of future updates, so fear not! I plan to stick with this story to the end and beyond! I'm glad you like it, and thanks a ton for reviewing!**

**Guest: Wow, I was so flattered when I read this! I don't know if you're reading this now, but if you are, I want to know that I not only blushed, but was happy for the rest of the day. Thanks so much and I hope you continue to think of me as "cool". :P**

**Okie, please review~!**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

Seven times. Seven times Wilson had had to fix her in the two days that she had been drifting in and out of rest. She had awoken from sleep, screaming and crying, sobbing and bawling, convulsing and shivering, and it had torn the poor gentleman in two each time. He had struggled to recompose her, build her up again and convince her it would be fine to fall asleep again, that he would be there for her to break down into. That he wouldn't _leave_.

However, her sleeping state was improving; she was staying asleep for more hours on end before the interruptions kicked in and forced her awake once more. It was dull having to lay there for so long, but Wilson fell asleep a couple of times himself, only realising his true exhaustion once he laid down his tools and put his head to the makeshift pillow. He was glad he had left his bag close to the tent, which held multiple selections of food. He was protective, and attentive throughout the whole time. He had snagged touches at her hair when checking her temperature, brushed the side of her face with his thumbs to wipe tears away, and whispered kind promises into her ear as she slowly drifted off into torture once more. It seemed to be improving drastically, this time, she was barely squirming, but Wilson still kept his arm firmly around her waist regardless.

"Mmf...," moaned a sleep-deprived Whimsy, as she tossed and turned in his grip. It was starting again... the cold sweat, the noises and the crying, it would all come soon. In a vain attempt to feel as if he was doing something to help, he lay his head closer to hers and began to whisper soothingly. No matter how little good it actually did, he persevered and continued his actions in the hopes that it would get her to sleep nicely. She sniffled, then whimpered, but nothing more was said or heard as she settled down into the covers once more; briefly, Wilson considered something he hadn't considered before: hunting Maxwell down and beating him. There was a point in everybody's life in which hatred and anger overtook any kind of morale and common decency. But Wilson wasn't angry with Maxwell.

He was _furious_.

He wanted to personally drag the old crook into a world of hurt, and beat him with all the good things that he thought he had ripped away from him: memories, happiness, his passions, plus his own twisted, bitter hatred that had been bubbling away in the pit of his stomach since he was ever transported to this God-forsaken place, he would let it all spill out, and it would be a confusing whirlwind of horror; pleasant to do, but nasty to witness. As much as he hated Maxwell... he had always been soft when it came to fighting his battles, not because he didn't know how to fight (well enough to keep him standing, at least), or because he doubted they actually deserved something that he planned, but because he was just too decent. In extreme cases, however, who was to say he couldn't let his perfect image slip in the heat of the moment?

Uttering incoherent nonsense, Whimsy shuffled, and Wilson turned his head. Letting out a small cough, her eyes opened slowly. She took in her surroundings drunkly; the constricting walls of the tent were oddly comforting as they contained her self-proclaimed madness reliably. The blanket was heavy on her, but the weight was welcomed, reminding her it was not just a vision of what she hoped would become real someday. But most importantly, above all, Wilson was still there. She took in the sight of his slightly ruffled hair, his calm demeanour, his soft smile and his arm that was still securely around her waist, holding her just close enough.

"Hey...," she mumbled drowsily, not sure what to make of her current situation. She already knew she looked horrible, all the tossing and turning assured that much.

A slight social awkwardness took over the scientist. What was he supposed to say? Good morning? Evening? Hey seemed too casual for him, at least for a greeting, but hello seemed too formal... and yet here he was again, worrying about how he looked and sounded like in front of the damned girl. Truth be told, it hadn't always been an issue further than his gentleman tendencies would have normally taken him, but something had changed, and it was much more of an intense necessity to have a good image.

"Sleep well?" he finally choked out, deciding that he was simply better off avoiding a proper greeting all together.

"Surprisingly enough... yes. This time." she answered after a moment of thought, as a bright smile suddenly appeared. The smile he had been missing. It wasn't the lack of one that had been bothering him, he found reasons to smile on a daily basis – he had to in order to preserve whatever sanity he was allowed in this place. But it was much better to have somebody else smiling along with him, and it brightened him up considerably; it also made his job of staying upbeat that much easier.

"Good. And thus, my hypothesis was correct after all. You _did _sleep better with somebody else here to aid you." he grinned cockily. She let out a "pfft" and turned her head the other way, though she couldn't deny that she didn't feel nearly as bad as before. In fact, a simple hunger grumbled in her stomach, and that was all, she was not tired in the slightest. As if reading her mind, his grin transformed into a smirk as he said: "Now all that's left to do is feed you. And as luck would have it, brilliant Wilson here has just the thing."

After getting out of the tent (Whimsy stumbled over Wilson's heels multiple times), Whimsy realised how much she had missed the outside land, even though the only outside she could experience to date was the likes of the wilderness that taunted them cruelly with it's low tolerance for survivors. And was covered in snow. She stretched none-too-discreetly, feeling liberated as the cold breeze caressed the skin of her arms and blew her hair angrily. She stayed that way for a couple of minutes, simply marvelling at how good she felt, before she started to get cold herself, mirroring the breeze outside. Peacefully, she picked up her coat (Wilson must have eased her out of it, she noted) that was by the entrance of the tent, and slung it over her shoulders, feeling her handiwork brush against her small frame. It felt so good... so very good.

"And look at this." the sculptor heard, turning her head up to look at Wilson, before lowering her gaze to the bundle in his arms: Chester. He was yapping excitedly. "Somebody's missed you." Wilson grinned, before releasing his hold on the tiny dog-like creature, whom proceeded to pounce on the smaller girl. Immediately, she began laughing as he licked her face jubilantly, as she tried to elbow his huge tongue away from her. He didn't relent.

"Easy goes, boy." she smiled, putting him back on the ground. He ran a comical circle around her legs, much like a cat. She got to her knees and petted him more gently and he remained orderly this time around, sitting politely and appreciating the attention. "But Wilson, he didn't see you either. Unless you left." she suddenly thought aloud, and he turned his head to look at her.

"Ah, but I was nearest the entrance of the tent. It wasn't hard for little Chester to stick his head in now and again; however, I wouldn't let him near you as it risked waking you up." he explained as he turned what looked to be a fish over the fire. Her mouth watered at the sight of it. Food... good ol' food. Her tummy began to flip in excitement as she awaited the tongue-tingling sensation of eating once more.

As the fish was offered to her a few minutes later, she settled down, rubbed her hands together and then began to dig in, whilst Wilson sorted through supplies. Looking at his 'stock', he keened positively: he had logs, grass, wooden boards and cut stones, though he was lacking the ever-exciting presence of gold or berries. He had eaten most of the berries and seeds he had whilst he had been looking after Whimsy; he didn't mind, but it was still a pain. In Winter, those types of things didn't grow back often at all. It was actually such a privilege to find a carrot even, in all it's yucky, vegetable-y goodness. He didn't want to squander any more of his belongings, but he still needed bait for traps. Perhaps he would simply have to go without rabbit for a few weeks until the Summer came back and he would be able to gather more; they were _very _hard to catch without the uses of well-baited trap.

There was an irritating sound in his ear, he suddenly noticed. He flapped his arms around his head discreetly (as possible), convinced it was an insect, or, failing this, his sanity, ever-depleting, slowly going down. He went into his bag and pulled out an already-constructed garland, putting it onto his head calmly, as if losing his mind was an ordinary thing. When he didn't feel the immediate head-clearing effects, he saw it as fit to question what on earth was going on and whether his situation was worse that he had originally thought. Instantly, he regretted turning around; there was a spider some feet away. It couldn't have been the source of the noise – it was too far off – but it was certainly his biggest concern right in that moment. As he slowly raised a hammer from his bag to throw at the offending beast, it suddenly disappeared.

_What?_

Wilson got to his feet and stood in the very spot the spider had been, before peering around; it wasn't anywhere to be seen. How had it done that? He was certain it was real, his mind never made up hallucinations about spiders. He was deathly terrified of them, but his mind, when fuelled with insanity and lack of sense, saw it as fit to conjure up images of huge, truly horrifying creatures, with long fangs and claws and disfigured limbs, not tiny little spiders and rabbits. As he progressed a little ways into the forest, he heard a familiar sound and immediately began to glower.

"Why the long face, Pal?"

"What do _you_ want?" he snapped instantly, turning to glare at Maxwell. If anything, now was more a terrible time than any, providing what torment he had put Whimsy through with the vicious nightmares; he had been doubtful, but after seeing the way she reacted after waking up, he was certain they were truly terrible. Wilson struggled to stand in place and not leap towards the puppeteer and give him what-for. Though he was in no way a violent man, he was a passionate one, who believed in a strict division between right and wrong. Maxwell was so far past that line, it was unreal. "And a spider? That's your best? You're losing your touch." he added sarcastically, intent on showing him that he was in no mood for games.

"You seemed disturbed enough to me." Maxwell smiled coolly. If there was one thing that Wilson could not achieve like him, it was the cool composure that never seemed to slip. Wilson was composed, but only to a human extent; the man in front of him could probably keep a straight face if something like the Holocaust was happening right in front of him. So many people would die, and he would not even twitch, simply stand there with a cool smile, or an indifferent countenance as the horrors went on and on. "Aren't you tiring?"

"Tiring? What do you mean?" the gentleman questioned. He didn't bother to be even the slightest bit eloquent as his tone took on a rough, almost reluctant kind of quality. He _really _didn't want to talk to him.

"You've been here for so long, Pal, aren't you getting bored?"

The question caught him off guard, and this much was evident as he tried to form words, but couldn't. What kind of question was this? Of _course_ he was bored! He wanted his rickety old house more than anything and had done for weeks now! He wanted his comfy chair and his radio (with the _normal _channels and not some demon talking to him through it) and his endless science equipment and his books. He didn't mind if he never achieved anything ever again so long as he could just have his life back. And he was certain that Whimsy felt the same; that she would do almost anything in a heartbeat just to see her parents once more, to run the photography business on Saturdays with her father and to attend her opportunistic college and sculpt freely again. But that led him onto a totally different thought:

Would he even know her if this whole mess in Maxwell's world hadn't happened?

"I am bored. You know I want to go home, and have done since weeks ago." Wilson sighed, unable to hide his slight sadness as he felt the wistful want for his ordinary life back safely in his clutches. He could be better... he could make machines that actually _worked _if he was just given one more chance. But that was one more chance he would probably never get... and "probably" was being extremely optimistic.

"Just so you know, I found the whole ordeal with the girl very amusing," Maxwell spoke up and Wilson hardened his glare. "The girl" was very important to him, and he'd be damned if he going to lose her over somebody thinking their existence was a mere mockery. But he didn't understand... where was this conversation even _going_? It simply seemed to be a random circle of questions and taunts, and it wasn't reaching any valid conclusion.

"Can you please just get to the point? My daylight is dwindling." he growled, a discreet pang of sarcasm managing to show itself amongst his urge to be through.

"As you like, Pal. My point is, that I'm finding it very tiresome to keep waiting for something to go wrong for the two of you. Or between the two of you. Whichever comes first," he took a pause, watching the gentleman for any solid reactions. He wasn't giving much away, though Maxwell could tell he was hitting a sensitive spot by talking about Whimsy. He continued with a devious smirk. "And so I thought it seemed a good idea to put you two on edge, seen as though it doesn't look as if you'll be separating any time soon. Shame, really."

On _edge_? "What do you _mean_?!" Wilson cried, frustrated. All these riddles were making his brain hurt.

"I mean that twenty-hours from now, you're going to be hunted down." Maxwell replied plaintively.

_Hunted down?_ Wilson's mind was a tornado of question as he struggled to understand. Was the man threatening him? Or was he serious? Was he implanting fear into his mind in order to make his sanity drop (not an outrageous thought, he had done it before but on a much smaller scale), or was he actually planning to have him run down? What the hell did he mean?!

His face was question enough as Maxwell began to laugh heartily, thoroughly amused.

"I figured it would only be fair to have you two fighting for your 'keep'. You've been far too comfortable in that pathetic little camp of yours. I'd like to remind you that existing here is not a free ride," he snapped, folding his arms behind his back smoothly as he made an apathetic shrug. "And though your outburst at the girl made me laugh somewhat, it's just not enough for me. I need _entertainment_. And what is more fun than allowing you to develop some kind of liking for somebody, before then ripping them apart, limb by limb, right in front of you?" he chuckled. Meanwhile, Wilson felt stunned. Was he being that obvious? And how could somebody be so openly sick-headed? More importantly, had Maxwell had intentions of bringing her to him simply to disarm him a little bit? To make him forget just how cruel the experience was seen as though he had somebody to share the experience with? "And between you and I," he continued to speak, appearing behind Wilson as he placed both of his hands on his shoulders, speaking quieter. "That's a big reason as to why she's here. I knew she would make you soften. Weaken you. She has issues of her own, yet you took those on board like the gentleman you are... what a pity that it'll all go to waste when she eventually sacrifices your life to save her own-"

"She wouldn't do that to me," Wilson interrupted fiercely.

"Wouldn't she? Are you sure about that?" the older male pried.

"I'm sure. I'm so sure." was all he said before shrugging out of his vice-like grip. He turned his head to him and growled under his breath. He had never hated anybody so much. Never in his entire lifetime. He was almost certain it wasn't possible, that the chemicals and whatnots inside a person made the human mind have some kind of limitation as to how much they could despise somebody... and yet his pure, bitter hatred for Maxwell seemed as endless as a bottomless pit.

"You'll never get the key, if that's what you're doing this for," Wilson suddenly chided.

"Oh, it's no longer about the key. It is about lack of entertainment. I can always take the key once the pair of you are disposed of, it really doesn't make a difference to me as to _when _I get it, just as long as I do. And I _will._"

The scientist gave him his best glare; it was so sharp, knives would have cowered in defeat. "We shall see."

Meanwhile, Maxwell shrugged, not seeming to worry about the gentleman's anger at all.

"Twenty-four hours, Pal." and with that, he disappeared, leaving Wilson alone in the slightly-dimming world. Twenty-four hours... that roughly gave them about... three days, give or take, according to this world's time. He remembered the conclusions he had made: six to eight hours in a day, almost a third shorter. Summer, on good days, sometimes leaned towards ten hours, but that was both pure maximum and a rarity, not to mention irrelevant as it was currently the middle of Winter.

Quicker than he'd ever run before, Wilson made his way back to camp, to find Whimsy sitting rigidly with Chester on her lap. He felt slightly guilty as a look of relief rushed over her face; she must have been worrying about him, however much. His absence had been undescribed after all.

"Where'd you go?" she questioned, more curious than anything else.

"Do you know how to cook?" he felt incredibly rude, shunning her question like that, but he had no choice; if they were going to be chased by what he could only assume would be the most disgustingly horrific creatures they could imagine, they would not have time to camp by night with a fire and cook their produce; they would use a torch at best, but that would definitely not suffice for going-off or raw meat.

She blinked. "Um... some things, yes. Why?"

"We need to cook a lot. I could use more hands than just my own." he appeared bashful, which made her smile widely, though inside, he was panicking. Twenty-four hours was already a God-send, he couldn't possibly hope for any more luck. But even being totally gracious, it still wasn't very long, not nearly long enough to prepare for such a trip.

"But why do we need to cook so much?" she pressed, confused.

"Whimsy, I will explain _everything _as we cook, but please, make a start with me." he urged, handing her a chest from inside their base which was full of meat and fish. He had been smart and collected for the Winter, and it seemed his ahead-thinking was paying off. Gingerly, she picked up the chunks of food, and began to copy Wilson's actions, sticking sticks through them and holding them over the fire, two or three at any one time. "We are in a rush... but don't take too little time with this. If not cooked properly, it could result in illness." he commented knowledgeably. And then came the explanation. The running away. The monsters that would be chasing. Maxwell and his cruel words. He had tactfully left out the part about her being ripped apart by demonic beasts, thinking it best not to scare her, but it was racing through his mind and there was nothing he could do to stop himself from stressing.

Her reaction was not what he expected. She hung her head and said nothing; he expected an angry outburst, and for once, he wouldn't have minded the curse words and the profanity, maybe he would have even joined in for a split second while he was lost in his own mind of worry and fear. There was no doubt he was scared, but on a positive note, it was driving him to work faster than ever.

Wilson ordered Whimsy to keep cooking whilst he turned to his science machine and made multiple pieces of rope, a shovel and three working traps while he was thinking about produce. He then took the mallet out of his bag, and began to whack his machine hard (though he left the Alchemy Engine as it was for the meantime), feeling a sense of remorse as he watched his first properly-functioning creation being destroyed, and by _him _as well. As the pieces eventually fell apart, Wilson was almost in tears. It was an overwhelming thing to do, demolish his own efforts after he had been so triumphant upon making it. But he didn't have time for crying, or regretting, as he scooped up the excess material. Surely enough, the gears that had been rigged at the top of the machine were part of the mess that had collapsed by his feet and he scooped them up quickly with a stone-hard face, proceeding to make an ice box with the planks and stone he had left; he knew that it was no good cooking for the meat and other material to simply rot and go to waste. No matter how hungry they became, they could not eat rotten food and risk getting too ill to move. At least an ice box would slow the process, if not prevent it for as long as they needed. On the topic of the ice box... he wasn't even sure how it stayed cold and frigid. Maxwell's world's logic definitely charmed him in certain ways, and this was one of them.

He turned back to Whimsy to find her staring emptily at the wooden floorboards. He'd never seen her looking so lost. He slowly surveyed her work, taking in the sight of all the meat she had cooked, and all the fish she had poached, all the morsels she had managed to work to an almost flawless-brown (though he probably would have done even better with those in all fairness) and felt proud. He knew that she could take care of herself anyway, but seeing this solidified this fact a lot for him. He made his way over to her, before taking the produce and putting it into the icebox smoothly. With minor persuasion, the lid shut, full to the brim with food.

"Just when I thought we'd be fine..." he heard, and he regarded the female sadly.

"We will be." he said in return. She instantly turned her face up to meet his eyes, and he returned her gaze all too readily. "Just not here. But, I won't let anything bad happen to you- to _us, _at all."

She didn't look convinced as her face still held it's worrisome vibe. Sighing lightly, Wilson put down the ice box and walked over to her, taking her face in his hands, gently forcing her to look at her.

"I _promise_." he urged on. She quickly enveloped the scientist in a hug.

"I know... I don't doubt you. I'm just... scared, that's all."

"I am too," he replied quietly, truthfully enough. But he wasn't scared, per say. He was _terrified_. He could only imagine what horrors Maxwell had in store for the pair of them, and all in the cruel yet casual name of 'entertainment', and it made his mind ache with endless scenarios. Meanwhile, his chest was fuzzy and warm as she rested her head on his shoulder, breathing out softly. Coyly, and somewhat nervously, he wrapped his arms around her waist, returning her gentle embrace. Whimsy was tired of running, she was tired of having to drag herself to a different place every week or so (and since days were shorter, it was quite often) and then when they finally had some kind of place to call their own, they had to leave it anyway. It wasn't _fair_. Whimsy tightly gripped the scientist's shoulders to keep herself from screaming. She wanted nothing more than to curse and curse and curse until she simply couldn't breathe any more. In the moment, she considered not breathing at all; it was inviting, though she resisted with enough sanity in mind. Besides, that wasn't an option, Maxwell would find some kind of way to prevent a suicide; she had no doubt he wanted the pair of them to die by his methods, and not through their own liberty... the thought was sickening, but also accurate. "But we'll be fine." he finished, bringing her back to the present.

Hesitantly, she took her head from his shoulder to look at him, only to find him doing the same, peering down at her with soul-searching eyes. Perhaps it was the heat of the moment that had made her grasp him so comfortably, but now, she simply felt flustered. She hadn't realised how undeniably... _close_ she was to him, and it was making her spine tingle and her legs feel slightly weaker. She felt like a terrible cliché, and yet it was almost a beautiful thing.

She cleared her throat, waking herself up.

"We should probably get a move on, since we're gonna be chased in a matter of hours. Get all our supplies together and all...," she croaked, her voice betraying her as she pulled herself away from him, forcing her face to remain stationary with a lack of blush. She was quite red anyway from the cold temperature, and she didn't need any more colour added to that!

"Yes..." he nodded, his voice soft and reserved as he made no move. He watched as she backed away from him, before turning her back and walking back towards the fire which was a little ways off, in the centre of their camp. Their base. _Their home_. But not for long.

As his rapid heartbeat steadied, he struggled to compose his thoughts. Only one thing stood out to him as he deseperately tried to recollect his bearings and motives.

_I think I may have some inkling of feeling for this girl._

**X x**

**Done.**

**Goodness me, I'm now shattered. I think this chapter is a tad longer than usual. Also, I broke some rules, I know, I know. First off, the gear thing: I KNOW you don't get gears when you dismantle a Science Machine, despite them being there in the animation (or so it looks to me), but I don't have enough time (story-wise) for either of them to grab gears through defeating those things that drop them. They have three days, and that's it, and those three days are short due to Winter. Also, it'd be too much work to make them find some, even if, unrealistically, the fight for them was quick, or they dug some up luckily. Just too much. So yeah, I made an exception, I hope that doesn't throw too many people off, sorry, don't hurt me or kill me, please.**

**Wilson is also a little conflicted here; so if his temper and mood seems a little jumpy, it's most likely intended. He is angry at Maxwell, frightened due to the thought of beasts tracking him down, confused as to why Maxwell has to take such extreme measures, and battling with some kind of feeling for Whimsy which, you can imagine with him being-Science-minded and all, is quite the struggle to accept, or so I think. Add in his whole social awkwardness (I get that air from him, honestly, since he seems cooped up a lot, based on the Origin Trailer) and the over-complicated judgements his mind makes due to how things work, yep... it's quite the battle indeed.**

**Please review and tell me what you think~!**

**Next update may be a tad later; I have a couple of exams to study for, including my weakest subjects (Math and Physics) so yeah, I'll be studying too. I also visit college on the 8th of July and it's my sister's birthday tomorrow, so she'll probably do something at the weekend to celebrate, so I most likely won't be free to write more then either, unlike usual. **

**~Jess~**


	12. In Your Head

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!**

**Firstly, sorry this chapter took a tad longer than usual; I had terrible writer's block. ;-;**

**So anyhow, I'd just like to say a huge thank you to all the reviewers, and I'm so glad everybody seems to be enjoying where the story's currently going. I'm happy it's satisfying. Also, I recently drew Whimsy and uploaded her onto DA... so if you ever want a reference on her, or want to know what she looks like, just say so in a review, and I can send you a link; I'd do it here, but FFN removes outside links, so yeah, not really an option. That was why my review some chapters ago wasn't there either. :/**

**But anyways, please review~!**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

He was definitely a generous man. Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four _full _hours he'd given them! And yet they were both panicking like stray puppies. Exasperated, Maxwell sat in his chair and huffed, fiddling with a shadow in which roughly represented a single hound. Ah, so many possibilities... and yet he couldn't do anything at all just yet, due to his promise. He was many things, but a man of his word was also a part of that mix. Before him lay an average sized board on a tiny table constructed of shadow hands, with unruly scribbles on it; upon closer inspection, these unruly scribbles were the roads and pathways in his God-forsaken world. And he knew them all. Every single one of them. Taking an even closer look, there were the grassy banks, the marshy wastelands and the savannah grasslands, not to mention the everyday collectables, such as grass and twigs.

He planned his moves meticulously, down to every last detail. He wanted everything to come rushing so fast at the pathetic people that they wouldn't stand a chance, and yet another part of him wanted to take it nice and slow, so slow it was almost agonising. He couldn't seem to settle on which one was better... perhaps he could have a blend of both and really see their confusion play out before him like the world's best action film.

A slow grin made it's way onto his face as he watched the sand in the hourglass (set to have turned twenty three times before this time) deplete to mere seconds-worth, before the top was suddenly empty, the brilliant glass catching the tiny light amongst the shadows.

"Now, let's have some fun," he breathed as he got himself comfortable, before snapping his fingers with a dubious _crack_. Chuckling, he continued. "Time's up, _Pal_."

**X x**

"Wilson, please!"

His name brought him out of his trance as he suddenly stopped running, Whimsy, not prepared for the sudden halt, crashed into him, sending the supplies she had been forced to carry (due to having no room elsewhere) flying out of her arms and her tumbling onto her back with a cry. Gathering his bearings, he turned his head, rushing swiftly towards her to help her up. Swallowing back his anticipations as their hands touched, he pulled her to her feet. The apparent "electricity" (for lack of a better description, he decided) between them, he wanted to experiment with so badly; the urge to investigate was so strong, just like before. He wanted to perform only the best of science to decipher exactly what caused it, why it happened, and why only with touch. Not once when he had caught her gaze had he felt the same thing, just a slight sway of his legs as if his knees were part-jelly, and nothing more. He would have liked to say it bothered him, and yet he would have been a dishonest fool to not come clean about his feelings. At least to himself. There was no lying to himself.

"I'm sorry... I've been forcing you, haven't I?" he breathed out, only realising how tired he was now that he had stopped. On the bright side, they had gained a formidable head-start, but this bright side suddenly turned dull as Wilson realised he didn't know where Maxwell was sending his cronies from. If anything, they could have been running _towards _them over the past two days. It seemed only logical that he would start them from where they had been... but this was _Maxwell _he was thinking about, and he had odd ways of bending rules, as well as a reputation for being unforgivably devious.

"Yeah...," Whimsy panted, bringing his head back out of his thoughts. Sparing her a glance, he saw her once again on her hands and knees despite helping her moments prior, breathing deeply. How many hours had they been running? He couldn't tell, all he knew was moving forward now. "I hope every day isn't like this. And I don't care if it's selfish of me to say that," she spoke once more, her breathing pattern beginning to regulate again as the rest eased her aching lungs back into normality's soothing pace.

"It is selfish. And yet I was thinking the same thing. I guess we're both terrible." he flashed her a grin, attempting to lighten the mood. Outwardly, it worked as she smirked back at him, finding the strength to stand up once more, level as usual, but inside, she was a mess of broken thoughts and worries. What if something really bad happened? What happened if they were actually running into some kind of trap and their end was inevitable?

What if she was to _die_ running from Maxwell? Could she even accept that? To die at the hand of the man who had put her through such grief only seemed to be him gaining the upper-hand after all. It was a dark thought, but she had a feeling she would prefer to take her own life than to let him take it away from her.

_What a nasty thought, Pal. _

She frowned. Where the snippet of speech in her head had come from was beyond her, but it disturbed her nonetheless. With a little shake of her head, she turned her head upwards to the sky, wishing with all her might that somewhere out there, there was a glimmer of mercy. A shimmer of humility and common decency. A flicker of _help_.

_Nah, nobody's coming for you._

Regardless of what was currently opposing her, she knew that much was true. Only Maxwell himself could choose to aid them, and there was absolutely no way on Earth that was happening; there was a bigger chance of Hell freezing over; of pigs taking flight; of her dying by his hand. But the voice in her head kept on whispering to her, kept on telling her things. Things about death and destruction and malice, that everything good eventually came to an end. It was beginning to wear her thin – but she wouldn't show it. There was enough stress on both of them having to leave the one thing they had known behind. She already missed the inviting wooden floorboards and the fire pit that was so volatile it made her smile as she came skipping home with only grass in hand. She missed the leisure of not having to panic, of not having to worry about where they'd spend the night. It was so tiresome and irritating to leave it all behind, as if it never even mattered in the first place.

"Poor Chester's looking exhausted," Wilson mused, which made Whimsy look down at the small creature heaving, sweating and respiring rapidly. It seemed not even his happy-go-lucky bounces could match Wilson's fearful sprint towards nowhere. The female bent down, getting to her knees and petting the small pet that she had come to adore by now. Chester wouldn't hurt a fly... yet he had a set of teeth that could intimidate most. Sometimes she wished he put them to good use, but she could understand that it wasn't within his nature to attack things.

"Yeah... poor guy," cooed Whimsy, smiling widely when Chester grinned loftily, huge tongue slowing in its motions as it returned to its usual panting-speed. "But no worries, huh? Say, as much as I adore being on the run, would it kill us to take a break?"

Wilson shook his head ruefully.

"I'm unsure if it's a good idea. But we're going to have to eat some time anyway. I say it's best to simply rid the urge by eating now, rather than later. Keeping in mind we'll have to move by dark as well." the scientist took a look at the sky, surveying the colour and working out the hours in his brilliant head. "We don't have that much time until dusk. It'll swing round soon enough, and that's when I'm most scared." he finished as he sat down, unloading his bag and the ice box (which was sat on top of his bag – he had attached it using the rope he had crafted beforehand) from his tired back before letting out a long-drawn sigh. The joys of feeling effortless, only if for a sheer moment. His travel partner followed suit, stretching her legs none-too-discreetly, though he didn't mind.

Setting up a tiny camp fire – one they could swiftly depart and not have to worry about leaving tracks of life behind – Wilson took out two slices of meat and began to cook them with ease. Meanwhile, Whimsy was left to her own devices and she took the time to think. She had been doing a lot of that in the past three-or-so days. Evidently. Shortly afterwards, she took the meat from Wilson with a bright smile and the two ate together as per usual. Things actually felt... somewhat _normal_. Or what had become their normal before it had been ripped away from them in the form of a cruel practical joke. Wilson was laughing as she tried to avoid eating in front of him – something she had always been slightly touchy about, and just with the gentleman before her – and she was making jokes, the same as before. She was glad in a way, that their joyous conversation could not be stilled, even with the biggest threat hanging over their heads: _death_.

"I have a question, m'dear." Wilson suddenly stated, an air of light seriousness about him. Whimsy raised her 'brows slightly at the soft utterance at the end of his sentence, but didn't question it, quite liking the idea of having some kind of "pet-name". It seemed personal, or so she thought.

"Yes? What is it...?"

"Do you miss home?" he responded and she stared at him. Was that even a question? "I mean... would you trade everything right this second? For example, if Maxwell was to offer some kind of way home, right here, right now, would you take it?"

The question was suddenly deeper. It all depended on circumstance: if Maxwell suddenly became "magically trustworthy", she'd happily throw it away in order to go home. But one thing remained._ Wilson_. What about the gentleman scientist she had come to adore so much? What about him? What if she wasn't able to take him with her? Would that change everything?

"It depends..."

"On?"

By now, he had shifted into a more comfortable position, and as dusk took over the pleasant day sky, Whimsy felt more inclined to feel slightly romanticised, whether his intention or not. The typical sunset-conversation, she mused. Additionally, the way that the young man was looking at her caught her eye; his normally cool, dark eyes were alight with something she couldn't place, but it was bright and it was beautiful. Compelling, even.

"Well, _you_. I wouldn't just leave you." she replied, and then in a feeble attempt to ease away the embarrassment, she added: "No matter how irritating your Science-talk gets."

He scoffed, playing along with the joke. The man then seemed to sober, sighing softly with a serene smile.

"That's good." he continued to smile. Whimsy raised her eyebrow high for the second time that evening. As he finished his meal, he stood and offered her a hand, which she gladly accepted, standing up. She noticed he kept hold of her, but didn't say anything in protest. "That you care enough about me to consider not leaving because of me, I mean. Thank you."

"You're as brilliant as Einstein, yet you're probably the biggest fool I've probably _ever _met." she sighed, pulling her only source of comfort close. He didn't return her embrace, merely because it was too short – and unexpected – to do so, but he did stiffen predictably. "You think I could spend all this time with you and then just ditch you? No way." she'd never breathe a word of it to anybody, but holding Wilson felt good. Being in contact – natural, human contact – with him was a pleasure. His body warmth was a real gift, and it took her back to more quaint times, such as when he helped cure her of nightmares only a few days ago.

_Too bad it won't last._

"It will last," she growled under her breath, earning Wilson's attention as he peered at her curiously.

"What will last?" he enquired, tilting his head briefly in a dignified way, expressing his curiosity like some kind of regal pup. Said pup was adorable, however, and so it mattered not. She choked over her words, not quite sure how to cover her tracks; in the end, she settled for pretending it simply didn't happen as she backed off slightly and smiled brightly.

"Nah, it doesn't matter. Anyhow, shouldn't we get on moving?"

**X x**

This was so _tedious_. He was expecting action. Drama. Real blood and real trauma, and all he was getting was a _lousy confession scene. _Maxwell growled under his breath, eyeing the map before him distastefully. What was taking those damned hounds so long? They were supposed to be fast. Fast to _fail_, more like. They were merely embarrassing him and his pride; he had half a mind to go himself, but he knew that deep inside, that wouldn't be any fun at all. The one perk, that he recalled so far, was that he could still sift his way through Whimsy's head due to "hacking" his way in with the nightmares previously. Getting inside her brain was now an easy task, and it was all because of his devilish plans for her beforehand.

He had wondered about interfering with her at all. Whether that would be fair of him. And then he recalled... since when had he been the fair one? He had started soft, with simple teases and not-too-flattering remarks about how the companionship she had with the stupid scientist wouldn't last, and that she was set to die by his methods only. Oh, he had heard the thought about killing herself off if it came down to it, and it had made him angry. That wasn't an _option_. She had no such pleasure.

He huffed slightly as he tuned their nonsensical jabber out. By now, he was bored, and was exceptionally sure that he wouldn't miss a thing if he was to simply leave and return to it within the next few days; he wouldn't for the sake of suspense, but he knew that thing would pick up eventually, slowly. Why had he even _chosen_ the slow route again?

He came to the conclusion that he only had himself, and his charitable offerings, to blame.

**X x**

If there was such thing as a mind-ache, Whimsy was sure as Hell she was suffering one. The amount of thinking she'd been doing, she felt was abnormal, and the voices had only steadily gotten worse. She now knew it was Maxwell trying to toy with her, no doubt about that, but she couldn't exactly understand _why_. Hadn't he had his fun, with the nightmares and the mockery beforehand? Wasn't now the time to play _fair_? But since when had he been fair?

She sighed, gripping tighter to Wilson's hand as they walked along the stone path, torch in the male's left hand. She had assured him she was fine and that she knew how to walk on her own, but he had kindly rejected any kind of determination to remain alone and had taken it upon himself to make sure she was close at all times; it would be getting dark soon, and the last thing he needed – and wanted – was to lose her. With their fingers tightly entwined together, he felt calmer., as if he was aware of everything that he needed to be. Of everything that mattered, and the things that mattered did not surpass much more distance than his arm's length.

_Tired out, Pal?_

She frowned. If she could just ignore it, he would simply give up, or so she thought. There would be no point in him persisting if she was giving him no kind of reaction, would there? And so with pride, she steeled her jaw tightly and didn't think back. One thing was correct though, she was tired out. Exhausted, even. All the running and the heavy weight on her back was making her restless and leaving her with an urge to _be _lazy, simply to remember what it felt like to not have any kind of fate on her shoulders.

_Trying to ignore me? How rude..._

She didn't know who he was to talk about _rude_. As far as she was concerned, it was "rude" to subtract people from their families, and steal them away from their daily lives. It was "rude" to put blockages in their path in the hopes they would _die._ It was "rude" to mock and joke about other people's misfortune while you sat in peace, knowing you were out of harm's way. She simmered hatefully, but kept her mind blank, determined not to make a fuss.

_You won't win, my dear, I'm in your mind. Meaning I know all, and you cannot be rid of me. How fun, hmm?_

Whimsy cringed visibly at the use of 'dear', recognising it as a sweet, one-time thing that the scientist next to her would use, and he would mean it. For Maxwell to address her as such was like telling a tiny child that their beloved Easter Bunny wasn't real after they had spent the whole day awaiting his arrival and that they held no purpose and were just a beautiful lie set up to keep you entertained until the day you understood just how free-of-magic life truly was.

She cursed sharply at him, inwardly wishing he went away with all her might, and yet her face stayed composed on the outside as the world around them faded to black, the only light being Wilson's trusty torch. She heard the crook 'wince' audibly, her keen insult set to drive him to the borderline of aggressive. She laughed silently, cursing again.

_'How does that feel, Maxwell? The word is too good for you, but it's something, no?'_

A pause filled her mind, and the silence was brilliant, though short-lived.

_Actually, it feels good. You always were quite... "fiery", per say. Plus, knowing you are now acknowledging me gives me some kind of upper-hand. _

_'Acknowledging? That's a kind term for saying "I can't help but pay attention since you're in my head."... you're being a little kind to yourself.'_

_Just as I'm being kind to you with how long these monsters are taking. Haven't you noticed, Pal? You haven't encountered a single thing yet... understand what I'm treating you to?_

_'Go to Hell.'_

Apparently her last comment amused him.

She'd be lying if she said her vision wasn't swimming a little bit by now, but she had it under control, or so she thought. She could still walk and travel just fine, so it shouldn't have been too much of a hindrance. The only thing she could think of, was how much sanity she was putting on the line to converse with the very demon who was trying to kill her. She hadn't meant to get wrapped up in bitter conversation... she had merely meant to make him simmer, knowing he could do nothing about it as he would have sent his 'troops' out for nothing. She inwardly noted that she had to maintain her insults, if she even felt she had the urge to speak to the damned man at all.

"Whimsy..." she heard beside her, and turned her head to look at Wilson, who was peering down at her. Her eyes met his, prompting his question silently. He seemed to understand. "You look tired. We can rest a little bit if you like. Maybe... sleep for a couple of hours while all seems to be quiet."

"How is that possible? The monsters won't stop for u-"

"I know that. But we can camp here."

As he gestured beside him, her eyes immediately went wide with euphoria. Before her sat a cave, it's opening dark and ominous, but also secretive and hidden. She couldn't believe their luck, yet it seemed slightly too good to be true. However, she supposed some sleep could rest her wavering mind; Maxwell couldn't keep her awake forever, even if he shouted through her thoughts until the end of time. There would be a time in which her body would simply shut him out and ignore him from the lack of rest she was taking in, and so she felt brave about taking a stand and agreeing to lie down. Try as he might, he wouldn't deter her. Not yet, not on the first day of their run-away. She was stronger than that. _Much_ stronger.

"That sounds like a good idea..." she mumbled, yawning slightly. Honestly, it was more her mind she was wanting to repair, she wasn't really so tired. And yet as they entered the cave and set up a fire for the night to keep them from plunging into ever-dangerous darkness, she felt relieved. Despite the stone floor and the cold feeling it racked through her entire body, she was content enough to simply fall asleep right there and then.

Wilson seemed impressed enough as he pulled out two straw roles, handing one to Whimsy and then fiddling with the other one, before laying it only a small distance away from hers; she made a noise of question as he settled down.

"I'm sorry, Whimsy, but I'm simply too jumpy with grievous possibilities to leave you be. At least let me stay close, if not right beside you."

She shook her head slowly, chuckling softly. "You're way too soft for your own good, Wilson. But fine, fine... you can lay there without me questioning you." she grinned, before snuggling into the grassy warmth. With the soft lull of the camp-fire and the warmth of her roll, she began to feel sleepy. Her mind numb from running wild, and her voice slightly hoarse from both talking and making slight noises in protest to Maxwell's angering predicaments, she slipped into slumber.

Wilson touched a gentle palm to her head as she slept, fondling a stray piece of hair and making sure she was as safe as it got for them (he was also closest to the entrance so that if anything came in, he would be first to attack – or be attacked). He took note of a little warmth on her forehead, but nothing drastic and decided sleep would remedy perfectly. He sat up to pull a spear out of his bag, resting it beside his 'bed' for the night. He sighed happily.

"...goodnight, my dear."

**X x**

**Done done done.**

**I am a massive, stupid, DERP. But hey guys, suspense, so don't hate me. Also, Maxwell's in-her-head ability was being abused. Ha ha ha. Dealwithit. :)**

**I am gonna check through this tomorrow, I have no time now. So yeah, any edits will be made tomorrow, as well as corrections.**

**Please, review~!**

**~Jess~**


	13. The Darkest Days Have The Darkest Ways

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!**

**So anyhow, here I am with the next chapter to The Wonders of Human Contact, hooray~! I'm super duper happy today due to my DeviantART work being a success, so yeah, I'm pretty bouncy in terms of my "duties" (fanart and fanfiction is serious business, guys, don't judge me). If you're curious, my DA account name is Agent-Pumpkin. Just in case. :)**

**Guys, slightly language and violence in this chapter, so sorry if it puts you on edge or anything. Also, I'm exploring Whimsy's dark state of mind a bit. And just to make it clear, Maxwell invading her thoughts has no quotations, Whimsy's thoughts back to him have little apostrophes around them – just in case that was unclear, though it's pretty obvious, given tone and characteristic, and blah blah blah. **

**So anyways, here we go again~! Also, I wanted to say thank you to Megan for reviewing (since she's anonymous) and that I hope you continue to enjoy the story! :)**

**Review?**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

Awakening promptly, Wilson rubbed his eyes and peered around, trying to recollect where they were. Ah yes... it was all coming back to him now: they had taken shelter in a cave in order to get some rest. A pretty convenient cave, but a cave that was there nonetheless. He laid still a moment, before sighing out and getting up, rolling his straw roll up – it seemed that, because of the sunlight not being able to touch the roll due to his position in the cave, it had not disintegrated. How interesting, and useful too! He bunched it quickly back into his bag before his previous statement was proven invalid and then turned to look at the sleeping female.

"How endearing." said the man as he watched her for a moment. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, combined with the ever-present mumbling swayed him ever so slightly. He was beyond glad to see her at peace, a sight so different to the one he had been graced with a couple of nights beforehand when the terrible nightmares had ensued. He was beyond glad they were over with, at least for the meantime. Slowly, he knelt beside her and placed a hand to her forehead; the high temperature as of last night was now gone. He had been correct, sleep had fixed her up nicely. Without another moment's hesitation, aware he was only burning daylight by watching her, he took her shoulder and gently shook it, feeling the familiar spark hit his fingers as he did so. "Whimsy...?" he pressed, nudging her a little harder.

She sniffled and shifted, opening her eyes slowly as she struggled to see. Her vision was hazy, and her gut gave a lurch of panic as something ahead of her moved. Noticing her distress, Wilson frowned worriedly.

"Good morning... are you... all right?" he asked, his breath baited as he waited apprehensively. Realising there was nothing there, Whimsy straightened herself out and made an effort to give the young scientist eye contact he so deserved, giving him a hurried nod.

"Yeah, I'm all good," she replied, feeling her gesture wasn't enough. Wilson seemed to speculate, but let it go with a sigh, making her smile. He moved her. To see he was so concerned and was easily worried over her made her feel cherished and important. Of course, she couldn't banish the ever-pending guilt she felt from making him worried in the first place, but the fact that he would even consider her important enough to fret excessively about was so very sweet to the sculptor. It made her smile with a new-found joy.

Standing up (wobbling slightly when she knew he wasn't looking), Whimsy peered around her. The blackened walls of the cave were oddly comforting, maintaining her dimly lit focus successfully, giving her enough lee-way to be able to see at all. She thanked her lucky stars for that. The thing was, she didn't feel ill, or even the slightest bit mad; definitely not tired, she'd _just _slept. And so she struggled to come to a conclusion as to why her vision was so terrible in the first place. Had she maybe done something in her sleep? Maybe laid funny and in a position in which her eyes were pressed against something? She wasn't even sure if that was possible, and she was through considering the many ways in which her eyes had been ruined.

"Wilsonnn~?" she whined, earning his attention as he turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow at her as he did so. She gave him relentless puppy-eyes and made her way over to him. He suddenly appeared uneasy as she arrived closer to him.

"Yes?" he forced his voice not to waver, and managed successfully. He was a brilliant actor, if not a little deceiving at times, and so it was a piece of cake to conceal his feelings so long as she didn't progress any further. Noticing his discomfort, she smirked slightly and, feeling mischievous, touched a hand to his shoulder, smiling. He simply stared ahead at her, eyes unusually inquisitive.

"Got food?" she asked sweetly. As soon as the sentence was spoken, Wilson nodded slowly

"You saw me pack it.," he croaked. Letting go of him, she span in an enthusiastic circle, before nudging him.

"Then can I have something?" she continued. Once again, the scientist nodded and bent down towards the ice box, undoing the lid of it and pulling out some berries he had hoarded together last minute. She smiled a smile that was slick with hidden intention, before accepting them fondly and bidding him thank you, skipping off towards her straw roll and sitting on it, far too peaceful and content for their current situation. The gentleman frowned, picking up on her odd signals. It wasn't logical she'd be so happy that she could skip and dance when they were running for their lives, or what was left of them in this cold, bleak nothingness that Maxwell liked to call "a world". He watched as she ate, unbeknownst to her of course; she'd immediately turn away if she found he was watching, she never had cared for people watching her eat, or so she had told him.

_Enjoying those, Pal?_

Whimsy rolled her eyes.

_'Don't you have anything better to do? Go away. It's early.'_ she thought back, before finishing and standing up, forcing herself to not stagger as her vision lurched dangerously. If this was Maxwell's idea of a cruel joke (which it most definitely was), it was definitely cruel, though the joke-factor was long gone. She hissed as she steadied herself. She lowered her head slightly to see Wilson sat on the floor, weaving rope together and attaching the corner back to the ice box, ready to attach onto his bag.

"Are you through with eating?" he asked her, not looking up from his work. She nodded, and then made a simple "hm" of an answer; Wilson seemed to accept it, standing up and adjusting the straps on his bag. Then, all of a sudden, the scientist's entire face lit up with question as a tiny _pitter-patter _could be heard from outside. It sounded like tiny feet... or _multiple _sets of tiny feet. Paranoia getting the best of him, he picked up his pick-axe, convinced he could hear it. In fact, it was getting louder now. Not long after his deduction was definitely denounced in his mind, Whimsy's head picked up curiously.

"What's that?" she asked, seeming on edge and skittish within a mere moment's time. It seemed the true weight of being hunted down was finally settling on her shoulders now. While he had been happy (and slightly envious too) about her blissful bubble and her happy attitude, he was proud to see her crash back into reality with such a sudden vigour to survive. It did his heart good to know she really cared.

"I'm not sure...," he mumbled, truly enough, the pair of them rushing around the wall in order to not be seen by anything that was potentially out there. Shivering slightly, she nudged towards the gentleman, nervous, wide, white eyes filled with anxiety and worry. A sudden skidding sound and what seemed to be an abrupt halt caught both of their attention as they listened and gave each other sharp, apprehensive glances; from inside her back pocket, Whimsy could have sworn she felt the tiny key give a tiny shudder of movement, but shrugged the thought away, having more worrisome things to deal with.

Snarling.

Wilson immediately tensed up and turned to Whimsy, putting a finger to his lips, successfully making a clear "shh" gesture. She replied by 'zipping her mouth closed' obediently, to which he nodded at hastily. His black hair looked particularly unkempt today, probably as he had woken up not long prior to this rather rude wake up call, and the dark circles under his eyes were only enunciated as they darted from side to side worriedly, stress and a lack of comfort skimming his face like a blanket to a baby.

Another growl sent a tremble of fear down Whimsy's spine.

_Ready to give in, Pal?_

This time, she ignored the damn man. With all her might, she ignored him and silently willed him to go away, not giving him any kind of impression or reaction. The growling sound was increasing, and Wilson cautiously peeked his head out, the curiosity and fright too much to resist; besides, perhaps knowing what was outside would ease his nerves a little. His coal-black eyes were greeted with a pack of hounds, though from one of their incessant barking, there were more to come. He steeled his jaw, trying to hold back intimidation, determined not to show fear. After all, that would only make the female beside him scared as well, and Maxwell would soak up their terror like a deranged sponge, the satisfaction seeping into his veins like an addictive drug.

Quickly, he rushed forwards and picked up his spear from the stone-covered ground, making Whimsy turn her head to him.

"What are you doing?!" she cried, her voice restrained to nothing more than a terrified hiss. Trying to convey an air of urgency was difficult when subjected to the volume of silence. He turned to her and gestured towards the entrance of the cave and hissed in return.

"Hounds. It's calling more. We have _no chance _if we don't make it hush."

Understanding almost instantly, she watched as Wilson carefully tip-toed towards the entrance. Getting a clear look at the beasts he knew all too well, he felt a new sense of empowerment. This was nothing he hadn't dealt with before. That alone strengthened his sense of confidence as he tightened his fist around the spear. Quickly, his brilliant mind calculated a way for him to kill the hound rather effortlessly and in one false swipe that was both quick and easy to perform, while tackling the creature's heart and killing it almost instantly. With an air of purpose, he wasted no time in sprinting towards the noisy monster, before impaling it's black fur with ease, silencing it as it made a strange, oddly eerie gurgling noise, before collapsing onto the ground underneath it with a satisfying _thud_. The other dogs barked, outraged; Wilson yelped with a new-found horror: he hadn't planned past his first move.

Getting more and more panicked as a hound bit him hard on his leg, he yelled out in pain, only for Whimsy to come charging to his aid, swinging an axe at the beast and sending it carting to the left dangerously. Recovering from her swing, Whimsy heaved heavily, adrenaline coursing through her, before swinging again, though the hound hardly seemed to stir. Just about to attack, the growling mess of fangs and drool reared up, but paused as meat landed in front of it, making its eyes change from narrow, dangerous slits to blank and shallow holes of contemplation; it began to gobble the food relentlessly, sharp canines ripping through what was once its former comrade with no remorse. Wilson grinned deviously as he pulled his arm back from throwing it, the triumph shining through in his next attack as he struck the same hound hard on the head with the blunt end of his spear, successfully knocking it to the floor. Whimsy made quick work of the scrabbling monster, blood spurting onto her shoe as she frowned distastefully.

Feeling stronger, the smaller girl shoved past the gentleman scientist and raised her axe above her head, ready to hit another one of the useless dogs, before she heard a scream of horror from behind her, shrill and desperate. She turned her head to see Wilson on the floor, two hounds on his torso, snapping and biting at his clothes and arms; unable to recover from her shock, she was knocked onto the ground by a charging carnivore, axe landing some distance away from her as another hound rammed into her shoes, chewing at whatever its jaws could lock onto. Having no other option, she kicked as hard she she could, sending the violent pup backwards by a few feet. Not having time to grab her axe, she wrenched Wilson's spear from his hand – he wailed in agony as she did so, an odd crack resonating loudly – and batted the two monsters hard with its blunt wooden exterior. One of them turned its attention away from the dark-haired man and leapt towards her, only for her to stab it's neck, a fountain of blood spewing onto her bandages and hands.

The strange, yet compelling colour sat there, oozing beauty as she stared at it briefly. Blood was an odd thing to come across in her books, even in this hell-hole of a world, and yet there it was, proud and red as could be. How quaint.

Not giving the mutt a chance to recover and attack once more, she drove Wilson's spear straight through the dog's neck, the point appearing through the other side, causing the dog to die. With little remorse, Whimsy raised the spear above her head (the dog still attached to it) and smacked it on the ground repeatedly. There was a feeling of anger running through her body as she contemplated that this very beast could have really hurt Wilson, and as she finally stopped bashing it against the otherwise soft ground, all that was left was a mess of fur on the edge of the spear. Again, her gaze turned down to the bandages, caked with blood. A small smile appeared on her face, knowing that this colour was the result of Maxwell's attack, and how horribly wrong – for him – it had gone.

_That's it, Pal... get a feel for it. Isn't it brilliant...?_

_'Yes, it's quite brilliant...'_

She shook her head rapidly. No. _No!_ This was _not _brilliant! They were in danger, and this was a huge mess, not an alluring fantasy or state of mind. She instantly cursed herself for agreeing, knowing that this would bring on more goading and mockery from the notorious villain. The anger making it's appearance, she growled, somewhat animalistic, before charging towards the remaining dog and grabbing it by the scruff of its neck, ragging it away from the gentleman, who immediately rolled onto his side and began cradling his wrist, apparently too weak to help. Which only made her angrier. With a furious screech of rage, she jabbed the spear into the thing's stomach, making blood pool at her feet; still alive, the dog struggled and whined.

"Who's laughing _now?!_" she laughed, before throwing the creature onto the floor in all its indignity and swiping at it until it eventually stopped moving. As predicted, the dead thing dissolved into a mass of meat, teeth and fur, though she kicked it aside angrily. After a moment's rage, Whimsy lowered the weapon, the sharp edge covered in the familiar sticky, red substance, and heaved heavily. Regaining her mind as to where she was, and who her audience was, she turned her head to the scientist she loved so much. He was clutching his leg, though his expression was all focused on her, a mixture of horror and awe.

"Wh-Whimsy...," he choked out, a confliction of disgust and amazement in his eyes as he peered up at her from his pose on the ground. She stared at him, before dropping the weapon completely, her hand now feeling strangely empty as her fingers curled for something to hold onto. Her head was a wavy mess of confusion; what exactly had driven her to go into such a harsh and _evil_ state of mind? Why had she felt pleasure when taking those hound's lives? Possibly because they were Maxwell's creations, or because his plan to kill them off was failing, and would continue to do so? Or perhaps it was the rage she had felt from Wilson being targeted and attacked? He could have been severely hurt... could have _died. _She wasn't prepared to let that happen.

"I-I didn't mean..." but she trailed off, knowing she _had _meant it. Every single slash, she had hoped it was burning and terrorizing the creatures for the minutes they had left. She hoped that Maxwell felt some kind of unbearable pain every time a part of him was killed by her. She hoped that she could kill _him _in a similar way. She winced at her own dark thoughts, but she was sure that she wasn't the only one who had had them in her time here. It didn't excuse them, or make them right, but they could be understood, and were valid reasons, or so believed. "I don't know what came over me...," she mumbled, not finding her voice as she stammered and pondered on what to do. Turning her attention back to Wilson's leg, she gasped as a huge gash was visible, blood seeping out of the wound by the second; Wilson looked pale, more pale than usual. She struggled towards him, and then halted when he did the unthinkable.

_Flinched_.

"Wilson...," she whispered, hurt. Her voice betraying her as it wavered slightly, she forced back tears. Tears of frustration and pain. Tears of impending heartbreak and confusion. She backed away, her shoes crunching against the fresh layer of snow on the ground.

He immediately tended to his mistake. "N-No! I didn't mean...!"

Without a word (though she seemed to ignore him as she stayed stone-faced), she went towards him and took a bundle of grass out of her back-pack; quickly crafting it into a semi-decent bandage-type deal, she began to wrap it around the wound as she forced herself to hold back a gip of disgust. The wound was terrifyingly deep, and the brilliant red he hosted there was intimidating to her. Finishing quickly, she tightened the makeshift-nursing material around his leg and then backed away.

"Please, don't," begged the scientist as she moved away from him yet again. The ground was cold on her knees, but it didn't stop her from leaning on them, her legs tucked safely under her body. She didn't look at him, didn't have the nerve to; how dare she think she was decent enough to look at such a brilliant man after such a nefarious display. Not even a pang of remorse...

_The guilt will shift, Pal. Surely you can do it again – and make what moves you have even sharper and cleaner._

_'I will fucking kill you, I swear to God.'_

Her face only hardened when Wilson reached his hand out, sitting up painfully and placing it on top of hers. With an expression full of commiseration, he uttered:

"I don't blame you. You did what you had to, and because of that, I'm alive. Thank you."

She batted his hand away, uninterested.

"I saw your look of _disgust_. I'm sorry saving you was so distasteful and against your principles," she snarled back. He peered at the ground guiltily, before glancing back at her. She looked lost. So astray and askew in her thoughts, she could barely even remember her purpose any more, and he knew how lonely the road to insanity was. More forcefully, he took her hand, refusing to let go even as she tried to shake him off.

"You talk a big talk. Yet you're as hopeless as I, if not more so. When are you going to drop that pride of yours and realise that there's more to life than being the tough one?" he questioned, making her look up at him, her eyes void of emotion. She seemed moved, but only in her silence rather than by expression or a real sign of understanding. He got to his knees, mirroring her position unintentionally. Tightening his grip on her paling hand, he sighed outwardly. "I know that this brave face you're putting on, it won't last," he continued, now earning her attention as her eyes wavered slightly. He could tell already that she weakening. "And I'll be there when the act wears off too." he finished, his words like silk as the girl looked fit to burst into tears. Getting a clear look of her face, he could see a slight splash of blood that she hadn't noticed, and slowly lifted his thumb to the smear, wiping it gently. She allowed him, even closed her eyes as he trailed his thumb down to her cheek, rubbing tenderly. Something about seeing her right there, within quite close proximity, looking so peaceful and "well-behaved", set something off in his stomach as his heartbeat increased at the thought of it. He wondered what it would be like to... no... that wouldn't be possible...

"How are we going to run now...?" she asked, looking to his leg . Upon closer inspection, the bottom of his black trousers were spoilt as well, torn from where the hounds had grabbed hold of him before Whimsy could get there. Luckily, it had only been his pants and nothing more, excluding the gaping wound he sported. Wilson shook his head just as dusk settled in.

"It's already working, this bandage of yours. The hounds are the fastest creatures Maxwell has, I highly doubt there are more creatures trailing right behind them. They'll be a few kilometres away at least."

"B-But what about-"

A shrill noise suddenly earned both of their attention as they whipped their heads around to look. Nothing was there, but they could both tell that whatever had made the sound was dangerously close; the gentleman got to his feet shakily, swaying on the spot slightly before steadying with a smile. Whimsy followed suit, silently grieving as the haze swarmed her vision once again; she had honestly forgotten about it as the conflict settled in, and the fighting had begun, but now it was back with a vengeance. She realised that it was probably having Maxwell in her head that was making her sanity run loops about her head. She tried not to give it too much thought, not wanting to fuel the insidious blockage of her vision any more than she already had.

"We are not through." suddenly made its way to her ears. The sculptor shot Wilson a surprised look. His face full of expressive determination and a hidden feature, he added: "I am not through. I have more to say. But it will have to wait."

The sound made itself present again, and a low rumble of footsteps could be heard by the pair of them; hastily, the scientist grabbed her hand once more and pulled out a torch which he had lit at that moment.

"Grab the bags, and then we move." Wilson ordered, not finding time to be polite, before letting go of her hand for a moment as she retrieved the desired rucksacks and offered Wilson his (heavy ice-box atop it as usual), and shrugged hers on as well. He re-took her hand, giving it a tight squeeze, before muttering, "This way," and leading her through a random array of trees, leaving their bloody endeavours behind them.

**X x**

He hadn't laughed so hard in a while. Whimsy's break-down – her rage and cruelness - had surprised even him, but her afterthoughts were so silly. She had actually pleaded to not feel guilty; to not feel like some kind of deranged murderer. Since when did that _matter_? Survival of the fittest applied when being hunted down, he could understand that. As he sat in his usual seat, glowing with joy, Maxwell felt purely delighted. He didn't think she had it in her, didn't think she could stomach being so violent and crude... and yet she had performed excellently, and with little grievance. The triumph radiated from him as he grinned, his fingers actively pressed together in the form of a devious gesture.

"Good show," he muttered, giving in to a feeling he swore he would never come across again: being impressed. "Very good show indeed."

**X x**

Huffing and puffing, the two stopped as the land came to an end; all that was ahead of them was a steep cliff-face and a seemingly ever-lasting ocean. The air around them was still. Quiet. The footsteps had died down, not even the calls could be heard. It was irritating him, he knew what they were, yet he couldn't place their "species" in his mind. He simply registered that they had got him into so much trouble. As the trees moaned in the dark of night, and the ocean lapped gently at the side of the island, Wilson couldn't help but allow himself to relax slightly.

"I'm still so sorry about earlier." he heard from beside him and looked to his side to find Whimsy peering up at him coyly. He shook his head, not having any of it.

"I told you, you did what you had to."

"I didn't _have _to be so cruel..."

"No, you didn't, but it's not exactly wrong either, given the circumstances. I'd hardly fight sanely if you were on the verge of being ripped to shreds, my dear, that's simply too much to ask."

She said nothing more, hanging her head and accepting defeat. Despite what he was saying, however, he was still slightly concerned. If this type of ravenous behaviour stayed purely when fighting things way, he supposed it was, though disturbing, fine. But he couldn't help but worry about her getting _accustomed _to being powerful; he had seen it happen in science many a time, when animals would evolve, and then simply get cocky and over-confident as they possessed new abilities, only for them to be the next ones to die out. He didn't want Whimsy to die. There were millions of a specie, but only one of Whimsy, and he couldn't afford to lose her. Not after he'd been through so much with her, and even accepted he was on some kind of foreign-feeling basis with her.

Abruptly, he jabbed his torch into the ground beside her feet, earning her attention.

"I think it'd be best if we don't sleep tonight. I think we fell behind because we made the mistake of getting comfortable, even when shelter and protection seemed imminent," Wilson sighed bashfully. She nodded in response, though didn't speak a word, her voice hurt too much to. Everything hurt too much to do _anything_. "However, what we can do, is eat." he said as he pulled his bag from his back and taking the lid from the ice-box off, offering her some meat.

"No. Thank you," she muttered. He raised his 'brows, though was not entirely surprised by her challenge. He sighed, a fond and knowing smile carved into his face.

"Suit yourself, but you know where it is when you eventually cave in." was all he said as he tended to himself. While he was seated, he got to adding another layer to his bandage, not convinced they would be able to get comfortable enough for the layer Whimsy had applied to remain stationary for too long. He most certainly didn't want to experience any wear-and-tear while on the run, and so a couple more layers definitely wouldn't hurt. As he finished attaching them, he smiled smugly at his handiwork, before turning his attention to the female; she was picking at her leggings absent-mindedly, though still wasn't eating or even opting to rest. She simply sat there, blankly. He felt a foreign urge to wrap his arms around her, and simply convince her that everything would be okay. But not like parents held their children. Not like a mother cradled her daughter, or like a father patted his son's back comfortingly. Oh no, something much more personal and sentimental. And yet he didn't have it in him to do it.

He was much too busy running away from his own situation. His own problems, and insecurities. What if he wasn't enough for her? He knew all the science she could ever ask for... and yet not a single fraction of it described how he was beginning to feel. The upmost joy in his heart when she grinned and joked and smiled with him, and the downright sadness he felt when she was insulting herself or putting herself down or angry with him. It was odd, yet he was no fool. Most of his thoughts about her were tame and tiny fantasies: wanting to brush a lock of that unruly hair out of her face, or perhaps when walking by, simply have the pleasure to press a kiss to the top of her head. He had never been passionate about a person before, only his work, and so it was odd switching his thoughts from machine-orientated dreams to raw and real fantasies.

Wilson knew he couldn't win. He couldn't over-come what she made him feel, and so he had no choice but to accept it, becoming an ordinary man to the powers of the universe; powers that not even his mind could outsmart.

And he had never been so pleased to feel inferior.

**X x**

**Good God, finally done. So I abused your minds with it's crapness? HOORAY~!**

**Please review! Also, again with the DeviantART thing, if you're curious, don't be scared to search anything up. Mt name on there is Agent-Pumpkin. Just to let you know, I WILL be drawing out scenes from this fanfiction and uploading them onto there, and I already have a couple of pieces up, including Whimsy, and another OC I haven't actually introduced into public fanfiction yet, Robyn. So yeah, maybe you'll find something you like or something. Or will do. **

**Anyhow, that's all!**

**~Jess~**


	14. Into The Depths

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that. **

**So, as it stands, here's a new update with Chapter 14 to Wonders of Human Contact. I'd like to thank you very much for your continued support; this story'll be over soon (in fact, a couple of chapters – including this one - left for this one, and that's it) but then it's on with the sequel, so no worries, haha. **

**Review?**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

She would have positively killed anybody in any way for a boat right now. Watching the ocean before her stretch out like an endless blue mess was the most taunting thing to her; knowing that, if they had the correct means, it wouldn't even be an obstacle at all, was what struck her nerves the most. Unfortunately, that wouldn't happen, due to two things: not being able to stay in one place for long enough to make some kind of transport, and Wilson's Science Machines were out of the question as they were too big and heavy to carry, and they needed those to develop construction.

They had moved from their perch on the cliff-side, but they remained walking towards the edge of the island through the dark of night, Wilson still refusing to let her walk alone as he gripped her hand tightly. She had eventually taken his hand in return, mirroring his tight grip intensely. It seemed lighter there, the shade from the trees seeming to have bundled elsewhere as the clear path shone up at them like glass. Whimsy couldn't help but gaze out, and occasionally lose her footing due to watching with such intensity. Wilson did not complain, even when she was tripping over _his _heels, his mind was too busy on other things. When would their next rest be? He didn't know, and it was scaring him to think they'd eventually just drop down with exhaustion, or tire out due to fatigue and insanity. They had to keep on top of things... but that was difficult when having limited time to do just about everything. They could barely eat without looking over their shoulders, the hound incident still fresh in both of their minds, Whimsy still feeling more ashamed than ever.

"Will we walk forever, Wilson?" she asked him in the silence. Hesitantly, he regarded her, out of the corner of his eye and pondered. Any other time, it would have sounded like a complaint, but he was set to wondering himself if he would ever catch a break. Would he? Would _they_? Would he ever be able to put his ruck-sack down again and just sleep? Would Whimsy be able to take multiple hours to craft something as beautiful as their Winter-wear ever again? It was a scary – yet more realistic – thought to answer all of those questions with no.

"Perhaps so, my dear," he chose his words carefully, not wanting to instil false hope within her, yet not wanting to break her already damaged confidence down into pieces either. "But as long as the both of us are there for one another, I can't help but see the bright side of things." he offered her a smile, which she gladly accepted and returned generously. Ah, that smile. How he'd missed it. He squeezed her hand tightly to which she giggled at softly as they both stumbled clumsily through the array of trees in the dark, only the weak glow of the torch there to guide them.

"You're too good to me." she laughed as she jumped over a spiky bush that she only just saw.

"I am just good enough," he replied, giving her yet another warm smile. Walking through the dark, even accompanied by a (meek) light, was not an easy task, and even Wilson had to tread incredibly carefully as he snaked his way through saplings and grass. And the noises had never quite left either; they could both still hear the snuffles of movement and the occasional calls as the beasts summoned more of their kind. He knew them... he was sure he did, and yet he couldn't place a name to their sounds, despite the dozens of times he'd heard them before. He was beginning to get frustrated with himself; now was most definitely not the time to be clueless about the other inhabitants of this world. Not at all.

"Say, Wilson?"

"Yes?" he responded almost instantly as he clambered over a small set of rocks that would have tripped him over if he hadn't been careful. He noted that the temperature was getting slightly warmer and the snow was beginning to melt by now. Winter was probably going to be over within a matter of days. That fact was enough to make Wilson's mood completely turn around and begin glowing as he daydreamed briefly about nice, warm sun on his back again.

"Well, before we went on running, you said you weren't through."

The sentence was enough to make him freeze in his tracks. He had indeed said that, and it was no light topic either. He had convinced himself he would confess his feelings, no matter how small they were for the meantime, and had blurted it out in the face of death, to know that he had at least promised her there was more to it. But now that they had survived, and all was done with, he had not planned on her remembering it, especially given her quiet state earlier in which she had sat by the fire whilst he ate and sorted his bandages and socks out. He swallowed back a gulp as he turned to her and cleared his throat.

"Um, maybe now isn't the best time, Whimsy." he mumbled, looking towards the floor as he held the torch between them both. His heart skipped a beat as she stepped in closer in order to see him better; she was frowning. Clearly, she didn't want to wait.

"Will there ever be a "best time" now?" she questioned, her voice soft in the calm moonlight. He blinked as her sentence settled into his mind. She was correct, but surely there were better times than this time, even if there was indeed, no best time to talk about it. He shook his head silently, beginning to work up courage as Chester fell to a stop and settled to snooze, the night-time luring him in to rest out of habit. He took a breath and exhaled peacefully.

"No..." he frowned. "No there won't." Wilson took a pause. Did he really want to say anything yet? He didn't feel ready... but he didn't deem it very fair to keep her in the dark, when most of his thoughts those days were written by her. He sighed softly and gently took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles slowly. " The truth is that-"

But a deafening screech interrupted him and the pair of them whirled around to find a single tallbird stood there, a look of twisted rage set across its large beak, it's one eye glaring dangerously at the two humans. Again? Seriously? Wilson reached for his spear, and pulled it out effectively, watching as Whimsy cowered slightly, backing away from the creature and behind him. Striking a protective front to the huge monster, the bird reared up, preparing to attack. With a furious cry, it scraped its massive clawed feet into the ground once, twice, and then began to charge towards them; immediately, Wilson screeched and dragged the female alongside him as he turned and retreated instinctively, despite sporting a spear so fearlessly seconds beforehand. Meanwhile, Whimsy struggled to keep focus as she staggered after the panicked gentleman.

_You can't just hide, Pal. Eventually, you'll succumb to that power you know you have. Don't you feel it there, even now? You know you don't want to retreat... you wish to fight, don't you? I know you do. I can read your thoughts... see your every plan and demolish it by intercepting it with my own. Perhaps, once this is through, and Wilson is dead, I'll let you off, so that you can come and fight for me. Wouldn't that be nice?_

_'I'd rather die than help the likes of you.'_

_Such a shame, I could have used a bit of fire like yours to add to my monsters. I suppose you're through then. _

Without warning, her vision gave way as she stumbled to a halt, tripping clumsily and landing onto the floor, dirt highlighting her face and hands. Wilson, though his arm had been yanked dangerously, had managed to keep most damage away from her as his surprisingly strong arm supported her, even from her position on the floor. It was then that she felt the pain, as two large claws slashed from the back of her neck to her lower back, leaving deep, red indents on her skin, ripping clean through her shirt. Meanwhile, the scientist struggled to keep himself composed as he felt the terror course through his veins. The wounds looked enormously painful as she shrieked in pain from being hit.

With shaky hands, he raised his spear and jabbed the bird in the eye with it, making it screech. It's loud call was a mixture of rage and hurt as it staggered backwards, losing sight and balance; without a moment's notice, Wilson lurched forwards and beat its legs, sending it straight over the cliff-face and into the murky water below. Panting heavily from the confrontation, the jet-haired man instantly lowered himself and crawled back to where Whimsy was kneeling, shivering terribly.

"Whimsy... I'm so sorry I couldn't..," he whispered, eventually trailing off as he traced his fingers ever so lightly over the violently-throbbing gashes, only for her to tense under his fingertips. The wound hummed with a raw heat that intimidated the scientist so that he pulled his hand away. As another wail was heard from the trees, he was almost reluctant to move, the guilt burning away at him like the sun on his back had been some weeks ago. Shame was an awful feeling: it made him cringe to just think about it, and made him visibly distressed when he experienced it. The trouble was, though most of his experiments in the past had failed, he had never been truly ashamed. Had he sometimes felt worthless, or unworthy of the title of a "scientist" (even though it was self-proclaimed anyway)? Yes, of course, but he had never had to destroy any kind of prototype because of it being too undesirable and shameful to continue with, nor had he ever felt like shoving his head under a moving bus when any of them failed. He simply persevered; he had more tools, more stock, more ideas and so much more time. Here, he had none of that, and only one girl. He wouldn't settle for her being destroyed, even seeing her _hurt _was incredibly difficult for him.

As a strong set of claws lashed towards him, he frowned deeply. Anger beginning to show, he dodged the pathetic bird's attack and then gripped one of its legs, yanking it towards him and over his leg, before bending it and snapping it with an unknown strength. The bird began to flail its tiny wings as it fell backwards, leg too impaired and ruined to use; it simply laid there, struggling and screeching for some kind of aid. Aid it would never get. Undeterred by the bird's show, Wilson stood up and made quick work of the monster, only to come face to face with three more.

Oh the joys of Maxwell being an unforgiving bastard.

**X x**

Their deaths was all he wanted... so why did he feel so angry? He knew it was nothing to do with the creatures he so carefully put together being mutilated and beaten that was the problem, he could always make more and did so. They were undesirables anyway, if they got beaten by a lousy scientist and his 'pet'. No, what had made him angry had been Whimsy. Whimsy saying _no_. He had never been refused before; everybody had been too afraid, or too bewildered to put up any kind of fight, to simply say no to him. He didn't find it very impressive, nor did he like it.

"Ungrateful... I offer her something I have offered nobody else before, and she refuses. _Refuses_. She has some nerve..." he hissed to himself, growing angrier and angrier by the second. He wasn't sure if it was some unknown anger he'd kept locked away – almost everything she did particularly annoyed him, but also entertained and kept him somewhat stable when deciding punishments and ways to kill them both next.

From his comfortable position in his chair, Maxwell surveyed the scene as the tallbird pieces moved forwards, attacking and encircling a seemingly wild Wilson. He had to admit, both of the people had showed him strength he originally didn't know they possessed, what with Whimsy and her breakdown, and Wilson and his current rage. He struggled to keep up with the change in pace as both of them went from fearful guinea pigs to rabid beasts capable of destroying just about anything. Despite this however, they had received some wounds that not only made Maxwell smile, but laugh. Throughout their despair and desperation to survive, they made a lot of clumsy mistakes; mistakes were so fun to watch, particularly as they could have been avoided in the first place.

He brushed his temporary anger to the side, attempting to see the fun in the struggling male. It was working, he could feel the usual satisfaction course through him as Wilson struggled to fight all three of the tallbirds off on his own whilst Whimsy remained floored. Speaking of which, she was yelling at him. Yelling hard. She was losing it... and that made him smile a demonic, crude smile.

If she wouldn't succumb to him, she was going to die. He would make sure of that.

**X x**

Moving backwards towards the edge of the cliff-face, Wilson looked at his handiwork: all three tallbirds were on the floor, deceased and beaten, a slight show of entrails enough to make his stomach flip in disgust. He hadn't realised just how out of control he had gone until he had heard Whimsy call him over, finally back on her feet. He found her incredibly brave and excused her 'cowardice' when she was not so courageous; she worked hard, he didn't see why he should hone in on the times in which she didn't work so diligently, if anything, he'd only feel irritation in which he would keep to himself. She wasn't perfect, and he understood so. His mind had not been clouded that way, unlike others whenever they fell in love or gained a deep liking for somebody. He couldn't place exactly where he was with her... he wasn't sure if he just liked her a lot, appreciated her work, was infatuated or in love... nothing was making sense. He couldn't deny the rings his mind had run, and those rings only existed because of the way she was, his thoughts about science coming to a halt as he considered more intricate things, such as her smile or her unruly hair. A thought that ever-so-slightly frightened him was that his heart was speaking louder than his head, and was making him act on dangerous impulse. Impulse was dangerous, and not a thought-through solution. Had he really let the wonders of human contact get to him? Had it really driven him to be a little less uptight? Nothing was making sense any more!

"Wow, Wilson... I didn't take you for a cold-blooded guy," Whimsy joked, nudging him. She knew he felt wary of his own display right now, but that did not overrule his brilliant integrity.

"Me neither. I just..." he turned to look at her, only just daring to meet her eyes. A cumbersome thought suddenly occurred to him: Wilson. P. Higgsbury, the gentleman scientist, was worried about being judged. That had never happened before; he had _never _cared about anything so much, and had let people talk their talk around the small village that he had once lived in, convinced he would be the one laughing when he was to invent the most spectacular thing that anybody would have ever seen. He just... hadn't reached that phase before he had so blindly accepted the "forbidden knowledge" that Maxwell had to offer. He sighed in slight remembrance. "You got hurt. And I... let my urges get the best of me. I'm sorry you had to see me like this."

"I'm in no position to talk." she responded, brushing some of the left-over feathers from his vest. "But out of interest, what urges are you talking about?" there was a pause as the night subsided and made way to day, the sun rising and the snow even less than the day before. What a good sign!

Wilson paused. She probably didn't want to hear what he was going to say, but he was going to speak as such anyway.

"I wanted to kill them for it."

She gave him a strange look, as if silently questioning him. However, he could not bring himself to answer to her; he didn't want to throw away whatever pride he had left after such a disgusting, distasteful, unmannerly set of events. But no sooner had he thought this was he enveloped by arms, pulled close into a tight hug. He responded seconds later, though looked unsure and slightly curious.

"Then I'm glad I have you," she whispered into his shoulder as she held on tight. There weren't many opportunities to confess just how brilliant he was any more, not with so much of a burden as losing their lives hanging above their heads all the time. She felt that she hadn't said something to him for a long time regarding just how brilliant he was. "You're... you're really special, Wilson." she continued, a hand snaking up his back to the rear of his neck, making the young man gulp slightly with nerve. He knew that this was a different type of embrace, something personal and special, and he was so glad he had been the one to experience it with her. Triumphant, even.

"I know," he replied after some time. She chuckled, tempted to slap him lightly but decided against it, the moment too sweet to cascade into something more trivial and playful. "But... you made me even better." he added after some time. She knew that tone, that was his thinking tone. He was obviously pondering about something, and she sincerely hoped that he was thinking about times that he had been such a huge help to her, and possibly their entire history since meeting. They had quite the interesting story, rich with adventure and emotion, and it wasn't even nearly the end yet, she refused to die, and Wilson refused to let her, to which she reciprocated with a vigour like none other.

"I also know." she muttered, earning a chuckle from him, the slight bump in his chest as he did so oddly soothing to her. Eventually, she pulled away and smiled. "Thank you. For being there through everything."

Yet another chuckle. "Are you kidding, Whimsy? I wouldn't have missed this for all the science in the world." he murmured articulately, honestly enough. He could not deny that if he discovered some kind of new, exciting and unfounded piece of science at any given time, he would definitely put that first, but he would never brush her off or trade her in or ignore her for it. Not even science could take her permanent place that she had earned in his mind and, more importantly, his heart.

A noise caught his sudden attention. Whatever it was, it didn't sound friendly, and as he whipped his head around, he saw something charging towards him, head high and teeth bared. He couldn't even _identify _this one, it simply looked like a shadow, its form as black as night. He barely managed to get a yelp out, before the thing was struck away from his body; however, the swing had been clumsy, and had caught him as Whimsy pulled her axe back, sending him in the direction of the edge of the cliff. With little effort, he kept his balance and reached to pull his usual spear from its perch the second time that night. Feeling confident, he raised his spear towards the thing as it turned on him and headed towards the scientist with speed even he could not measure.

"What the-" was all he could utter, surprised (and frankly, a little bit _impressed)_ by the speed of the creature as he tumbled towards the edge. Keeping balance with a foot that dug into the ground, he then proceeded to swipe at it desperately, only for it to grab his arm and push him; no doubt, Wilson was going to slip, but if he was going to go to his death, then so was this monster. He kept that in mind as he dragged the shadowy figure with him as he slipped backwards, unable to keep his balance any longer, over the edge of the cliff. Meanwhile, Whimsy stiffened.

"_Wilson!" _she cried, dropping her weapon completely and beginning to rush over to him. But she was too late. She heard the huge splash as they both went over, as well as a howl of pain, and she instantly dropped to her knees, crawling to the edge and peering over. The rocks below gleamed up at her as the water lapped over them, seeming to have calmed since their newest victims had fallen in. She despaired obviously as her empty eyes began to fill with tears. "Wilson..." she whispered. She whispered his name over and over again, as if her mind was a broken record and would only allow her to speak his untold legacy and his brilliant name. What was she going to do now? Now that she'd been travelling with him for quite a long time, she felt clueless as to what she was supposed to do on her own. She had hardly any supplies, a half-worn out weapon, and nothing to keep her sane at all now. Either she would get murdered by Maxwell's cronies, or get taunted to insanity by the demon; either way, he had his way with her.

She allowed herself to cry, tears coming out of her eyes ten to the dozen as she sobbed into the dirty floorThe roar of the waves didn't subside, but she swore she could hear his voice. Ah, his sweet, gentle voice... she'd never hear it again...

"Whimsy, will you _please _look this way?!" she heard. It sounded so real... was this Maxwell messing with her again? It probably was, that demon was in no way reasonable or understanding and would most likely taunt her with the man's death. It was so very likely that she almost tuned the apparent voice out. "For the love of science, woman, look at me!"

Deciding to humour the demon as to make whatever taunts he had less daunting, she peered over the edge of the cliff, only to recoil in shock: _Wilson_. Surely her mind was playing tricks on her now. Surely this wasn't real. Or was this whole thing just a bad dream? She simply stared at him, the ringing in her ears almost too much to bear. She wasn't sure what to do, whether she should burst into joyous tears or scream his name in agonising resolution. Whether she should scramble forth and throw herself over just to be on his level, or whether she should simply turn away leave with the insight that he wasn't even real. But how could she be sure? He _seemed _real.

"H-How?" she stuttered, unable to say anything else at all. Her voice betrayed her as it left her speechless, and her muscles followed suit, leaving her limbs like jelly as she simply stared at him. Wilson struggled to keep grip of whatever he was currently clinging to, but still had it in him to be polite, which made her heart break ever so slightly. To know he was so focused on his good intentions and deeds would never go unmissed by her.

"The... the thing fell in." she peered at him, bewildered. And then she noticed something missing: the icebox. The _icebox _must have slipped off his bag when he scrambled to grab something. The _icebox _must have been the thing that had fallen into the sea, alongside the mystery creature. The _icebox must have _had dropped to its death, not her dear, beloved scientist. Regaining her senses as if by magic, she rushed forwards and offered him a hand to which he grabbed intensely, squeezing it as if it was the last time he would ever hold it. "And the icebox went too." he seemed to frown. As if it really mattered.

"To hell with that thing, you're safe and that's all that matters." she growled determinedly, as she pulled with all her might. Wilson was in no way built up – on the contrary, he was actually rather scrawny and lanky in places, but by _God_, was he heavy! It must have been the not-easily-noticed muscle that caked his arms and fingers from hours of experimenting and investigations and tinkering that were weighing him down. Which was both irritating and surprising.

"There's no way..." he sighed, earning her attention. She raised an eyebrow quizzically at him in question. "There's no way you can lift me. You're not strong enough, and I'm too far down. My weight is being influenced by the-"

"I don't _care _what it's being influenced by!" she interrupted, tugging harder on his arm, making the gentleman yell out in pain. Whimsy halted, not wanting to harm him in any way. "I'm really sorry, Wilson," she mumbled, before yanking again, earning a whimper of pain from the young man below her. She managed to pull him some distance up the wall of the cliff-side, the tip of his astounding hair coming up over the edge and into her line of vision as she pulled for all she was worth. He tried to help her by digging his heels into the side of the wall, but it seemed to be to no avail as he just couldn't push himself up any more. He grunted out in defeat, voice slick with disappointment; not in her, but in himself. He was the man here, he should have been of more use, or so he felt, even when dangling over a cliff with death just beneath him.

"You will have to let go."

"Wilson-" she attempted to speak, but she was cut off.

"Let me go. I can swim well, my dear, I'll just make my way around here and to a bit of land. When I'm there I can make a camp-fire so that you can find me due to the smoke. I still have my bag, see? This will work. Trust me." he explained, a smile on his face. Despite his brave words, he really did feel like a mess. A mess without a plan. His brave face would slip if she didn't comply soon, and that was something he didn't need Whimsy to see. Luckily, he had not lied about being able to swim well, or that it would work as he had worked out some kind of position to fall, knowing all along that his chances of getting back up had been slim to begin with. In fact, he had not lied at all, just... perhaps, instilled some false confidence in her; since he wasn't too confident himself, he couldn't be one hundred percent sure this would work at all, though he was not prepared to say otherwise. He knew he could get in the water without being smashed to bits by rocks – he had calculated so. But he wasn't sure where to go from there. Better not to say anything though, it would only frighten her, and make her less likely to drop him.

"I am _not _letting go of you, Wilson!" she protested, holding onto his hand even when he struggled ever so slightly, trying to convince her to let go. "You're not going without me." she growled at him, holding firm, digging her heels into the dirt from her position on her stomach. His face gave way to a frown. Her loyalty was outstanding... but she was placing it wrongly; he _needed _this, for her to let go. There were probably beasts right behind them by now, the tallbirds an issue of at least ten minutes ago as they exchanged tough words and arguments whilst he dangled from a cliff.

But how else could he fight her? He wasn't able to use his hands to hold her back, nor would he ever think to do so. All he had were words, and the words he was using were in vain anyway as she clung to him viciously.

"If I let you come, then you have to promise me something," he stated, beginning to feel her grip slip slightly. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, brave face out of the window now. He was far too apprehensive to keep it going strong, he could barely form a coherent sentence right now.

"Whatever it is, consider it done." she retorted, staring strongly at him, an air of bravery and determination about her face. Something that, admittedly, he'd never seen before, from anybody. It was totally different, and the difference was refreshing indeed.

"You have to follow my every move, and you _don't, _under _any _circumstances, _leave me_."

She took a pause and then nodded slowly, earning a smile from him. He waited for a moment before looking down below them and then back at her again, eyes lighting up hopefully. Without another word, she screwed her eyes shut and pushes herself over the edge, following Wilson into the water below, landing in it with a resonating _splash_.

**X x**

**Done! DONE! And this is one of the last chapter's too before the sequel. **

**I hope to see you review, and I know the fact that Wilson did not die was kinda predictable since there's a sequel, but hey, suspense you guys, don't judge or hate me please, I love you all, blargh. Reviewwww~?!**

**~Jess~**


	15. The End Of The Beginning

**Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that!**

**So, the last chapter of WoHC before the sequel comes into play! I'm excited as heck for this, it's going to be so much fun to write! However, I'm currently a little down as I'm considered as less by some people merely because I contribute to a fandom instead of writing my original works at all times. It's really frustrating... but I won't let those types of people affect how I update; I would have updated this yesterday, but there was a power shortage of some kind because of the bad weather, so I didn't get chance. Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and are looking forward to the sequel! Review if you will!**

**~Jess~**

**X x**

Breathing was the hardest part. She'd be thrown underwater with such force that she thought she'd never have the strength to get back up; the fact that she had, and was now gulping down oxygen ferociously, was probably one of the most shocking things she'd found she could do since she met Wilson. Her own physical and mental strength surprised her greatly.

However, once they had steadied themselves, and shared a small hug (or what was considered a hug when up to their necks in freezing cold water), they had swam with surprising ease. That being said, the salt in the brutal ocean sea made her wounds sting like needles were constantly piercing her skin, and the gentle rock of the waves would occasionally break pattern at random intervals, making the pair of them cringe as the water lashed at their eyes like tiny whips. By God , it was cold... especially in the Winter weather, and though the cold behaviour of the season was slowly correcting itself, the pristine water did not seem to want to follow suit.

"See any land yet?" Whimsy asked Wilson, who was surveying his surroundings with keen, calculating eyes, and with Chester securely on his head after they had fumbled around in the sea to find the tiny companion. The little creature gave a lurch of discomfort as the scientist swam forward with shockingly strong arms. With a small shake of his head, he muttered:

"No, not yet..."

Inwardly, he was panicking by now. There didn't seem to be any footholds to get anywhere near the top of the island once more; no possible ways up meant them staying in the water, and Wilson knew that they'd either freeze to death, or drown from exhaustion if they didn't find some kind of way up and out. Whichever came first, and they were both grim possibilities. Whimsy tried not to think about the stinging of her limbs, or the freezing cold temperatures of the sea, or the way her vision was hazy and fuzzy; if not for Wilson's spiked hair (though it was matted as it was wet, the tips simply would not relent), she probably wouldn't have been able to see him, and follow him, at all.

_Say, Pal, you don't look so-_

_'Don't even finish. Admittedly, I don't look so good right now, but you're just trying to put me off. Well it won't work, Wilson and I are going to get through this, and your mob of "monsters" aren't even going to get close any more. Trust me when I say you're through, and your joke's run dry.' _she interrupted. She wished she felt as brave as she sounded. Suddenly, a wave lapped over her head, making her splutter and cough semi-violently and upon steadying herself, she could only assume that Maxwell had caused such a comeuppance. She supposed, if any other person, she would have deserved such a reaction, but with Maxwell, she simply refused to take any pity or give up being so rude and forward. In fact, was it even rude? It was what he deserved... so could it be considered as improper, or even unpleasant? Perhaps it was the most pleasant he would ever get.

_I don't care for your attitude. Then again, it'll be fun to take you down a peg or two, so by all means keep going. _

_'I will.' _Whimsy huffed back. She was not prepared to be told off by the demon, nor was she prepared to take threats without at least putting on a stoic façade. She didn't want to seem weak, didn't want him to hone in on her weakened guard if she was to put down her defences and admit how frightened she actually was of him. But the truth was, she was tired... so, so tired. Her arms and legs felt about ready to drop off from the pain and exercise they were going through, and her bandages had left her, having been torn away from her whenever the sea became defiant and crashed against her. She felt so heavy... as if she could sleep right this second and not regret it.

Sleep...

"Whimsy!" she heard as she struggled to keep her eyes open. "I found something! Look, there's a little, narrow water-way here, we should probably follow it!" Wilson exclaimed, the excitement clear on his face. He seemed to think this particular "pathway" was some kind of breakthrough, when all it meant to her that they were going to be spending longer in the water. In that freezing cold water... she wasn't sure if she could take much more of this. She felt so pathetically weak, and yet nothing was happening in order to make her have a more positive outlook on their current predicament, even the water-way in question.

She gave it an intense stare. The tiny nook obviously wanted to go unnoticed with how very remote it was; if she hadn't been so one-track minded, she probably would have been excited just as the gentleman beside her was. The small rocks that littered the 'entrance' of it were of little hindrance, and there was a clear, though small, way through. The water also looked slightly more tame... maybe if they could just get there in one piece, they could make it. Forcing her anxieties back, Whimsy forced herself to swim after the scientist, who was already slightly ahead.

He turned his head to look at her and gave her a slight look of pity.

"I know it's freezing, m'dear, no need to look so brave."

"If I don't, I'm going to stop, and that won't be good for either of us," she responded with a clenched jaw, determined not to show weakness. Wilson shook his head slightly at her usual defiance. He took a moment to admire her courage and brave face; even though it was technically a lie, it was a lie used for the best of intentions: to not worry him. He liked the fact that Whimsy felt she needed to protect him that way, and keep his head from being led astray onto otherwise "unimportant" matters. But she wasn't unimportant. On the contrary, she was just the opposite. Science would probably always be his one true passion... but it didn't stop the fiery sculptor from making her way up into the number one spot alongside his work. She gave him something he could not ever gain from his brilliant inventions and ideas: inspiration. And of course, all the human side-effects that came with that, such as respect, admiration, adoration and love. He felt blessed to have met her.

"I suppose, if it keeps you happy, that's fine." he smiled to her, before propelling forwards once more as she struggled to see ahead. As they reached the entrance to the gully, they gave each other nervous glances. Wilson had never felt so anxious to explore, and Whimsy had never felt so damn tired. She could feel her limbs going to sleep... just as she wanted to. So, so badly...

Without another word, she closed her eyes, exhausted and unable to withstand the need for rest and the pain any longer. Whilst Wilson continued to survey the surroundings with upmost intrigue and interest, he didn't notice as she eventually went underwater, her bag weighing her down as her arms were no longer out to make sure she stayed afloat.

"And that's why we should head North, rather than North-West." he seemed to finish, turning to face her proudly. Only to recoil in horror. Where was she? Where had she gone? He _told her _not to go off! "Whimsy?!" he shouted, fear rising quickly in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't control it, and as he turned in circles in the ice cold blue, he could only feel his fright intensify. The cold temperature now seemed like nothing compared to the heat that racked his core as his blood pumped furiously about his shivering body. There was no way she could have travelled that far in a matter of seconds of him talking, it was an open body of water. Meaning...

Without hesitation, he shoved his head underwater, feeling the heaviness pull down on his head. Concentrating hard, he could see a vague outline sinking further and further down. That had to be her. It just had to be, it was too much of a cruel coincidence for it to be anything else. Immediately, he took a huge gulp of air and began kicking, his lean body diving towards her with slick practice. True, he had never taken swimming as a passion, or a hobby, but he had made sure that he knew how to swim well should an emergency happen when he eventually had to meet fellow scientists over seas. Seemed his good practices had been rewarded at least, in the sense that he could reach her fairly quickly.

As he grabbed her, he desperately began pushing back up to the surface again. He progressed slowly, but he was managing, Chester clinging to his head tightly for all he was worth, somehow still panting as if lungs full of water didn't bother him. Then again, he most definitely worked differently. Whimsy herself was light, and would have been even more so in the water... but her bag was so packed with materials that it made it quite the difficult task to pull her up at all. He began to run out of air himself as he threw his head over the surface of the water, gasping for breath, before hauling her out too. He didn't keep her steady for long, far too shell-shocked and frightened to do so; she slipped back in, only for him to wrap his arms securely around her , keeping her head above the life-taking liquid.

"I've got you...," he whispered to her as he held her close for a moment, before pushing his head towards hers as he placed the side of his face to her mouth. No breath was hitting his cheek in return. Hastily, he took her wrist; thankfully, there was still a light pulse going. From his position in the water, he did his best to pump whatever water had gotten into her system out of her. He felt terrible, slamming his palms into her back with such heavy force that water spurted out of her mouth like a low-running hose-pipe, but it was the only way she was going to stay alive at all.

Suddenly, the female coughed violently, choking up water and spluttering over her own oxygen as she inhaled with haste. What was happening? Where was she?! She felt something warm by her ear, like air, and realised in her drunken, choking state of mind that it was Wilson behind her, clutching her tightly. It was only then that she took note of his warm hands on her waist, despite the water surrounding them being sub-zero, and could only just comprehend the words he was softly whispering in her ear.

"Take it easy, my dear... you're fine... it's all right..."

By now, Wilson's legs were beginning to go numb from the low temperatures, mixed in with the adrenaline slowly departing from his veins as the danger ran thin, dwindling away into non-existence. The female in his arms briefly registered what he was saying by nodding briefly, as her breathing pattern began to slow once more, to which he leaned his head against her matted hair and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back tears of relief as he clutched her tightly, almost refusing to let go again.

"Whimsy," Wilson whispered into her ear. Any other time, she would have felt charmed... perhaps even slightly seduced if she was feeling particularly bold that day, but now, she simply felt out of it. Completely and totally astonished. She was trying to recollect whatever had happened five minutes ago, but her mind was simply running blank, retrieving no memories despite her knowing she possessed them. She must have done, she mused, something happened, therefore there must have been some recollection of it somewhere, even if it wasn't in her head right at that moment. "Can you move on your own? Can you swim?" he continued to whisper. With little luck, he could keep her calm enough to move on her own; he highly doubted he could carry her all the way to shore. If there even _was _a shore.

To his dismay, she shook her head, her eyes closing again.

_What a close call, Pal. We wouldn't want anything else like this happening again, would we?_

Too weak to argue with whoever this voice belonged to – she recalled it, but was too exhausted to place the voice to the name she knew she knew – she simply shook her head once more, leaving the gentleman to sigh worriedly. Unable to do anything else, she passed out, her head lolling onto the scientist's shoulder, sending an eerie chill down his side. With a shiver, he placed his hand over her mouth, relieved to feel soft breath hit his quivering fingers. She was alive, and it was all because of him and his swimming.

He tried to haul her onto his back somehow, but after several attempts, it was clear that she was too heavy. Crestfallen, Wilson reached for her bag and slipped it off of her shoulders, putting the most important bits (such as grass, twigs, a few pieces of flint and a small batch of berries) into his own pockets, surprised they would even fit at all, before letting go of her bag and watching it float out to sea.

"It doesn't matter...," he growled, watching what other materials she had leave them. "It doesn't matter. We can gather more." he then looked to the unconscious girl in his arms, finding he could lift her _much _easier now. Gently, he eased her over his back, making sure her face and airways were out of the water's way, before swimming towards the narrow opening with all his might. If he could just stay strong enough to stay awake himself, they'd have no trouble, providing there really was land around there like he theorised.

It was just a matter of time.

**X x**

Maxwell couldn't help but raise a brow at the pair of them. Had he honestly misjudged their relationship? Had he not given them enough credit for how close they were – or seemed to be? If it had been him, and his companion had simply passed out and started drowning, he probably would have left them, unless they carried valuable traits or materials with them. He couldn't see himself swimming to shore with them if they couldn't do it themselves. Too much effort. And risking his own life too. But watching Wilson do so with what seemed to be a certain ease made him feel pathetic, thinking he couldn't achieve the same. How dare that scientist excel at something, and have the mind to help another whereas he did not! It wasn't the companion-carrying he felt a burning hate for, if anything, it'd be better she stayed alive this time so that it would be twice as fun when she eventually died for real, but his fine swimming. He was supposed to have stayed cooped up in his house for _years!_ How was he able to perform daily tasks at all? He'd noticed it as soon as he dragged Wilson to his world, actually – Maxwell knew that he was clever, but years and years of confinement had to have done at least something to jut his common sense. How did he even understand how to make a fire, or to make tools in order to help him out? The only thing he could remotely understand was the Science Machine.

Looking back at his 'map', he paused and narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion. Where _were _they? It looked as if they had just... _disappeared _from his scope of vision. Away from his expanse of land all together. His frown deepened when he found he could not see them anywhere. Had they died? Had Wilson finally cracked? No... that wasn't possible, he was always alerted somehow...

"Where are you?" he hissed, beginning to get frustrated. He snapped his fingers in a slight temper, and two shadows appeared in front of him. "Find them." he ordered coldly. "Find them, and tell me where they are. Scan the area, find out where they have disappeared to and alert me. Oh," he paused, a demonic grin making its way onto his face. "But do not harm them. I wish to see for myself what kind of mess they have got themselves in."

Without another trace, the shadows vanished, intent on fulfilling Maxwell's biddings. He took a cigar out of his pocket and lit it slowly with a swipe of his slender fingers, placing the tip to his mouth and inhaling deeply, a peaceful expression making its way onto his face. He felt better, knowing they would be sought out and recorded. He felt better knowing they wouldn't be out of his sight for much longer. He felt better knowing that a mere sculptor and a mediocre scientist had not bested him. He leaned back in his Throne, a comfortable feeling washing over him.

"Not this time, Pal..."

**X x**

At first, Wilson had been skeptical. He swam through the opening with vigour, Whimsy supported properly and ever-loyal Chester still gripping onto his head... but he hadn't found anywhere in which they could rest.

And then there it was.

It was in no way inviting, all barren and abandoned, but it was there. A small section of land sat alone, slabs of uneven concrete weakly paving the entrance to what looked like a huge cave, sand littering the rest of the small expanse. Once the raven-haired man had noticed it, he had practically transformed into some kind of torpedo, hurtling towards it, wishing to get out of the freezing water before he simply passed out much like Whimsy had before him.

Pulling up onto the dry land had never felt better. Once safely out, he put Whimsy onto her back (much too polite to simply shove her off of him) and then collapsed onto the sand, the side of his face hitting the sand with a soft _thump_. The only thing that could be heard was him gasping for air and the rattling of his bones as he shivered relentlessly. His body had gotten used to the cold temperatures; they weren't good for him, and he was not resistant, but now that he was out of it, he simply felt much colder.

Struggling to compose himself, he dropped his bag from his back and emptied it, coming across grass and logs, to which he built a camp fire with and then eased off his wet (top-half) clothes, laying them in front of the brilliant warmth. After a small amount of time, he bit his lip nervously. Whimsy needed the same treatment.

The scientist paused. He could in no way undress her, that wouldn't be proper at all! But... much like mouth-to-mouth procedures, there was nothing he could do to avoid compromising events. He simply had to abide them, for better. Silently, he slipped her wet socks and shoes off. Easing her gently towards the camp fire, he hovered over her a second before swallowing his pride and screwing his eyes closed, slowly pulling her shirt away from her body and laying it over his. Then, to ensure sand didn't stick to her (as the water was far to cold to wash it off), he propped her over his leg, her head resting on his thigh to which he couldn't stop himself from blushing heavily at. He was being so childish, so ungentlemanly... and yet he couldn't help himself. Was this what it felt like to be a typical man, and not a refined, reserved one?

Ever so slightly, he placed a hand to her bare shoulder, gulping back apprehension. He _had _to feel that electricity again, he simply had to, especially after feeling like he'd never feel it again after she had passed out in the ocean. He kept his eyes firmly glued to the back of her head, only snagging touches at her with his blind fingers. Then, satisfied, he kissed her forehead sweetly, and laid her down to rest once more, upper torso laid (face down, just to make it easier on him as well!) over his already-drying clothes. No, they weren't totally soak-free, but they were no longer dripping wet, thanks to the mighty heat and warmth of the fire he had set up. He watched Whimsy's back move up and down as she breathed softly; she'd most definitely wake soon and for that, he was beyond glad.

He began to roast the berries he had taken from Whimsy's bag before he had let it float away, ending up with a rather delicious helping. Briefly, he longed for his ice-box. If only he hadn't dropped it on the cliff... they could have had meat, proper vegetables, pre-cooked dishes, fish...

He froze, a small grin appearing on his pale face. _Fish_.

He grabbed a stick from his bag, and then a piece of rope, wrapping it around the wood with care. It wasn't as fine, or delicate as the usual silk he would use for a fishing rod, nor as efficient, but it would work enough for him to catch some kind of food. The sea had to be _swarming _with fish and sea creatures, there was no doubt he could catch at least two! He smeared a little of the mushed up berries onto the end of the rope, hoping it would serve as some kind of bait and cast his line quite far in.

"Ugh... wh-what happened...?" he heard and he turned his head to look at Whimsy, who was now sitting up and rubbing her head softly.

"I found some land," he explained gently as she peered around the unknown place with mild interest and fear. She then spied a banana tree in the very corner of the island; something Wilson had overlooked in his panic. He followed her gaze to look at it, and immediately brightened up. "If you can, would you be able to pick some? I'm trying to catch some fish right now." he gestured to his line in the water, which was suddenly pulled, making him yank furiously on it, desperate to reel in his supposed catch.

With wobbly legs, the sculptor managed to stand up. It was only then that she felt her bones ache, and protest to her exercise. She ignored them however, and trudged forwards, eventually reaching the tree, which she leaned against meekly. She wasn't sure if she could reach them, she seemed too little, but as she reached up with all her strength, she was surprised to feel the tip of the fruit touch the palm of her hand. She yanked it hard and it eventually came free. She did this again, now hosting two of the vivid fruits before staggering back to the camp fire, the chilling feeling in her bones subsiding as she sat beside the heat.

She tried to recall whatever had happened, but she simply couldn't collect her thoughts together. It was as if there was some kind of mental block that prohibited her from remembering anything past swimming after Wilson in the ocean. She could only guess they had made it back – or, he had with her. She could only assume she had not been awake if she couldn't remember... meaning Wilson would have pulled her to shore. What a saint. She smiled fondly as he lured in a second fish, the pair flopping around on the sand before dying promptly from lack of water. If not for him, she probably would have been dead so many days ago... and it was thanks to him, really, that she had made it this far. True, she had helped him in return, what with the Winter wear and the fighting the monsters of Maxwell's foul world, but he was her glue. Wilson was that sticky substance she had been searching for in order to keep her together when she was to weak to do so. He had kept her sane. Happy. She felt her heart throb slightly with new-found emotion as she watched him come towards her, fish in hand and a bright smile on his face. He had spent so long looking on the bright side of things that she doubted he was even aware of the dark side any more. And why should she worry about that either?

As he pulled up beside her, he offered her a fish and a stick, which she accepted gladly, beginning to cook it over the raging fire. She couldn't believe it had gone on for so long, but what really captured her interest was the cave to her left. It was _huge_, and it's entrance was oh-so tempting. She simply wanted to go there, and see it. It seemed like a huge hole in which they could rest in, possibly even build a new life in. New camp, a fresh start. The idea excited her as she peeled her banana and ate it slowly with a thoughtful countenance.

"Is the food good?" she heard. She nodded slowly, feeling strength come back into her body as she swallowed every bite of it thoroughly. It was only then that she seemed to notice his bare chest as a blush made itself visible on her face.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt...?" she mumbled. The scientist couldn't help feel self-conscious, but he resisted the urge to cross his arms over himself, knowing all too well that a male being shirtless was just fine, and even acceptable in a general community. Still, the idea of being so open and vulnerable made him cringe inwardly.

"I-I had to get them dry...," he murmured, looking towards the floor. It seemed that Whimsy only noticed her lack of a shirt as soon as the gentleman said this. So that's why he wasn't looking at her over dinner. Immediately, she folded her arms over herself, attempting to cover herself a little. "D-Don't worry," he paused, still looking elsewhere. "Do I really strike you as a typical man?" Another pause. "I took it off with my eyes closed, I swear."

Whimsy was left to silence as she slowly took her arms away from herself. If she couldn't trust Wilson, he'd never trust himself with anything this important ever again; what if there came a time when they had to rid themselves of articles of clothing for another water trip, or to travel somewhere wet? Sighing, she forced herself to be comfortable, though still felt too exposed for her liking. Then again, she had a wonderful view just opposite her, Wilson was surprisingly well built. His arms were quite thin, but there was obvious muscle, his stomach nice and flat. She gulped down her thoughts with a blush, which he took as her still adjusting to being so open.

"Well, thank you," she choked out, earning his attention. "At least it'll be dry by the time we move again."

"I-It's nothing..."

"It's something. You always seem to know what to do." she looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a passionate gaze. He mirrored her slowly as he paused in his eating and simply looked ahead at her. The glorious eye contact racked his spine with shivers and made his heart pump furiously, so much he feared it would burst straight out of his chest. He had never felt this way, not even with a working machine. The excitement had been different. "Thank you for everything." she eventually spoke again, making him nod silently.

"My pleasure," he whispered, stomach full as he finished his fish, adding the peel from both of their fruits to the fire as fuel. They burned nicely, odd fierce sparks jumping from the fire's exterior like toddlers on a trampoline. "And speaking of moving again, I'm not sure where we're supposed to go next." he piped up. Though, his mind had other things it wanted to explore. "Whimsy, I have... I have so much to tell you." he took a breath. "But it can wait a little. Let us get back on our feet first. We suffered quite a blow from Maxwell's monsters, and our latest 'misadventure' through the sea made us both weak."

He was dying to confess his feelings, dying to come clean about how he felt... but he just couldn't. Not quite yet. Even if she didn't know it, he had kissed her forehead, and that was enough expression for him right now, his conscious slightly satisfied with his acceptance. He could always tell her when it was more convenient. And he would. The smaller girl seemed to accept his words as she nodded and smiled at him, apparently agreeing.

"So, where do we go next?" she asked, attempting to seem bright despite her feeling of exhaustion. She had slept earlier... but it didn't feel enough. Her body still yearned for rest.

"The only place we can go, it seems," Wilson replied as he turned his head to look at the cave and it's gaping entrance, dark fused around it like a thick sheet of glass. He was ever so glad he had taken those supplies from Whimsy's ruck-sack before they had left her bag behind, otherwise they'd have been stuck without a way to go forward as they wouldn't have had supply to make torches to venture through the darkness. "In there."

Whimsy took a glance at it, feeling the usual excitement she felt when getting offered a new place to explore. It seemed so big, so vast, and that meant she had plenty of opportunities to see things she never thought she would see, even if it was something so simple as a cave.

"But... doesn't it seem dangerous?" she asked him, smirking knowingly as he raised his eyebrows at her, sporting a confident smile of his own. He chuckled and looked to the hole of darkness, giving it a diligent nod. With only a moment's hesitation, he uttered:

"Only one way to find out."

**X x**

**Okie, so it's done. Hooray~! Be happy though, the sequel is on it's way, so nobody panic and say it's incomplete, or it's "unsatisfying" - of course it is because it's not over yet! Anyhow, thank you to EVERYBODY who stuck by me with this story, it's been a pleasure to write and I'm so happy to have so much support from all of you! :)**

**Also, I'll answer ANY questions you have about this story on my DA page (I'll write a journal answering them if I get any and then link it here – I can edit it) and may even be giving slight hints about my sequel story, so if you have any questions about basic plot or whatever, you MAY be able to pry something from me. Not major plot though. :P I will also eventually be doing a Don't Starve comic, featuring Wilson and Whimsy too. :)**

**Review if you will, I'd love to hear your opinions on it! Until next time, Pal!**

**~Jess~**


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